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JEJUNE UNDERTONES
With a psychosomatic washcloth she wipes . . . .
She thinks the constant erasures in her mind
Will wipe the slate clean of those emotions,
Those still reverberating haunting memories
Beating like a heartbeat just below the surface
A constant reminder of the subterranean pain
Buried deep within her unconscious psyche . . . .
But like little bubbles from below they rise.
