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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75. Rolling Days

 

I never thought that days could roll until I pieced together

my memories of these last few days

and watched as they tumbled ineptly through time like my

aching legs.

 

The leaves somersaulted with the colours of the sky

skipping from a film of red to a coating of lilac to the eventual cloak of black that

swishes over each night with a

billowing flourish.

 

Each song that rang around my room curled into one,

the notes fusing with those of my keyboard and the lyrics that normally

fumble with my heart became a blurred mess

of consistent noise that drifted into the back.

 

From mud patches to grass clumps to scarlet cuts,

from Hebrew to English to French,

from Jewish food to pizza to Chinese a

repetitive frenzy of late nights that bought the sun early and dangled the moon

between its fingers.

 

I try to envelop myself in sleep but my covers roll with the days and I am left

with my head off my pillow wishing that

the days would spark alight again.

 

-12th October 2015

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