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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8. Floating Feelings

 

In all honesty,

I do not know what to write.

Because I do not know what I

feel.

 

So I shall write about what I see

outside my window.

 

I see blue.

A lot of blue.

It seems as though it is not just the sky

that is the effortless dark blue

but the entire street is just soaked

in a faded ink.

 

The field with the green trees

seems further away then normal.

You cannot see the white tinted tree

it just blends into the

dark.

 

The red tree isn't quite so bright.

The yellow and white flowers

that dot lawns

are swallowed by the colour of night.

 

The street lamps

burn umber,

spilling rays onto the messy

paths and roads.

 

The white of houses seem brighter then in day time.

They look clean like polished floors.

 

I can see all the

specks of grime that stain my window,

usually disguised by the sun

light.

 

People draw curtains

and shutters

in houses,

turning off lights

and turning on lights.

 

I see

bushes and

puddles and

strips of grass

and bare-looking trees

and over-flowing skips and

front door numbers

and the reflection of my bedroom light

against the dirty window.

 

Good night.

 

-Saturday 30th May

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