Days of Difference
Grey ashen sky,
no movement it seems until
rain hurls onto the window,
listening to staccato drops,
seeing them merge and run
distorting the outside,
comfortable inside,
warm, thoughtful
calm spreads, envelopes,
thoughts released,
eyes close,
but
There were days walls closed in,
thoughts travelled with me everywhere,
like automated breathing,
passive,
mechanical days of sameness,
no one any the wiser
that my skull weighed heavily
on a brain that wanted
to be empty.
Poetry by shells
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Written on 2020-09-15 at 21:35
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F.i.in.e Moods |
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ken d williams |
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