existence.

"Sad stuff makes beautiful poetry, but it's not so pretty to live with." [-Merecat]
*For the Dear Diary Competition*
(I recommend anything beyond 'Tumbling Ash' for the rest is a mess of nonsense words that hold no character, no story and absently fill the page)

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58. Consuming Black

 

The sky's cloak of infinite black has descended

at the early hour of 10pm.

 

I wish I could say I felt that luxurious blast of warm air that smothers the outside

like a blanket of heat

and I can hear crickets clutter away in blades of grass wavering

but all I can hear is rustling

from my sibling's room and heat is a precious gem that seems more like a

rare myth than a regular temperature here.

 

The moon has wrapped itself in the night's warm hug and

plays hide and seek with the sun

whilst I try and figure out whether a golden flash in the sky is

a brave star first out or a the backlight of a plane.

 

My curtains feel soft and I wish I could wrap myself in them

and stare through the light fabric at the ever consuming darkness that slides

like a shadowy screen over the

faded pink of the day.

 

I feel like crying

but then the tears don't seem right in a moment

so blissful.

 

-3rd September 2015

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