Typed Music


I suppose these are just little pieces of me, wrapped up in words.

The forgotten melodies of my mind.


38. Obsolete

Once upon a time
I thought I was creative
And that my imagination spilled
like paint left to dry in the rain
Or perhaps I thought I was freshly-picked
Or new
Or exciting
Like the first leaf that falls in Autumn
Or a first kiss in the clumsy semi-darkness of a party

Now I realise that all my poems just sound the same

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