Washing our hands
Down an old, rusted drain
Lose bits of ourselves
With an absence of pain
Unseen and replaced
Like they never were there
With hardly a trace
And an instant repair
A Poetic Dive into the Creative Unconscious
Washing our hands
Down an old, rusted drain
Lose bits of ourselves
With an absence of pain
Unseen and replaced
Like they never were there
With hardly a trace
And an instant repair