Partial Soul Collapse

Murky, muddy…
Torrents turned to trickles.
The soul well stopped
By gravel of anger,
Mud of musty gossip,
Clay of callous judgment.

Swirling turbidity
Teases and twerks
At strings of trust
Too frayed and broken
To be useful.

Sullenly slipping
In quicksand
Of prefabricated delusions,
She selects a silent exit,
A vote cast for no one
And nothingness.

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