no color infuses the room it sags in darkness sound is sucked into
the air your nose detects nothing but there is a little buzz in your
mind seeping around inside carrying thoughts away leaving only wet
then dry then soggy then damp and smell returns- first musty, then rank, rancid,
putrid and you crawl into a corner putting your face there, your cheeks hard
there hoping to stop it- your hands cant reach up- they are needed on
the ends on your arms, pointing down at hell to keep your head off the floor
you feel the wall it is slightly sticky the floor is cold dry
concrete, rough on your knees and palms, you think, what is this?

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Index of new writing © 2000 Thomas Coleman
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