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In the throes of the Crazy Time
I painted a room.
A vortex of swirling purple,
swooping red, splattered green.
My anger and my grief
crashing like waves
from wall to wall,
uncontainable.
Eventually, I covered it
with cool white, slightly pink-tinged,
layer on layer
until it was gone,
painting over the despair.
But underneath, it’s still there.

for the dverse prompt on madness
and #9 in 30 Poems for September

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9 thoughts on “Underneath

    • Both a metaphor and a true story. I think about that room all the time, and the people who live in it now, and have no idea that it’s haunted.

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