Drip... Drip
The dripping would drive another person mad.
Drip... Drip
Not me. I’ve been here for three days. Hanging.
Drip... Drip
It came from the painting. The ocean. The waves. A lighthouse. Peace.
Drip... Drip
It emerged from the water. Slowly. Over days. Weeks. It consumed the lighthouse.
Drip... Drip
More tentacles than body. It broke free.
Drip... Drip
I can’t see it. Not really. It moves... sporadically. Through time. Through space.
Drip... Drip
It doesn’t belong here. It’s always hungry. Soon, the bucket below me will be full. I will be empty.
Drip... Drip
Then it will eat.
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alt="Kent Town Station by James M. Rose"
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alt="Future’s Reflections by M. Tensor"
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