Drained Room

So this is influenced by a rather small happening that happened today.
I wanted to write some bad poetry about something else but instead I wrote bad poetry about said happening.

I hope you enjoy.

Dust once still shifts
It flows away
It moves from its home
Objects long standing lift
Stir particles and force
Into a float and drift
Disturbance remains
Until the room is drained
A slow and steady action
Repeated for all shapes
To transfer them elsewhere
To create a new old
The dust settles
In an uneasy space
Filled with recalling
The memory of shapes

About Stupidity Hole

I'm some guy that does stuff. Hoping to one day fill the internet with enough insane ramblings to impress a cannibal rat ship. I do more than I probably should. I have a page called MS Paint Masterpieces that you may be interested in checking out. I also co-run Culture Eater, an online zine for covering the arts among other things. We're on Patreon!
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