Treading

the pitter patter grows quieter

the longer it rains. The bucket on the floor

creeps closer to the brim until it spills over,

becomes the lava of my feelings. I jump

from chair to chair trying not to feel

the dampness begin to cover my feet,

although it is long overdue. The droplets

turn to a whisper and I can almost hear them

saying prepare to tread but my arms

of course are numb. numbness tingles

through every synapse begging me to harken

new emotions. I take a deep breath and my

eyes become blurry; only this time I hear

start by dipping your toes.

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