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The Sock

Here is a poem about reincarnation and death and socks that I threw into the washing machine.

I wrote it while sitting in front of the washing machine watching everything spin and I thought of how sad those socks must be.  Stains on shirts are like memories and the washing machine brutally and violently rips these memories away from the beings.  It is a sad thought to think.  I was crying as I wrote this.  One sentence in this paragraph is a lie and it is not this one.

They threw me into the machine

Smothered with others of my kind

They set the evil thing in motion

And it shook and it spun

And then the water started pouring in

The dreadful water

It had the bubbles that stung

Oh no oh god

It burns

Pain

Excruciating Pain

My memories

Fade

Dying

Help

Pain

Death

Pain

Help

HELP

NO

I feel the door open and they pull me out

The world is bright

I know not my past

No memories

But I rise with sparkles to greet the world.

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Comments on: "The Sock" (4)

  1. So….there is pain after death? Yeargh.

    I have oftentimes dreamed of liberating the clothes from the washing machine, but the washing machine will not yield, for the door is fastened shut. So it is with life: we can only watch, without intervening.

    • I actually interviewed the two socks who were nearby yet somehow managed to avoid being thrown into the machine. They told me Soch (that was one of the victim’s names) was their cousin and they really wanted to somehow open the machine and free them all.

      They rejoiced when after the 35 minutes, the door opened automatically, but reacted in dismay when they met Soch again and found his/her (I don’t know how to tell the gender of a sock) memories gone.

      I feel that I am unable to save those two from a similar fate. Worse, I feel they have already undergone this fate many times over and have no recollection of it. Perhaps I too have been victim of this fate. Perhaps you as well.

      We have no way to wrench open the door, and it may stay shut for eternity.

      We are all trapped here in this washing machine called Earth, smothered with others of our kind until the door opens.

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