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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66. Lost Words

 

You'll find my words in the trees today,

tucked between the shelter of leaves as the rain hammers down effortlessly

or curled up in the holes of gnarled bark.

 

I wonder if they cower from the poisonous dark that seeps into

the air at night

or hiding from me in a glimmering hope that they won't be used.

 

Throughout the duration of the day I saw them,

sun-bathing in the yellow reflection of my bedroom light that shimmers on the window

or swirling within the ink of my school pen.

 

They would hide beneath my bed sheets and wrap themselves up in the fabric

acting as if it were a vast ocean of cotton and my bed posts

were land.

 

They sat on my window-sill and watched the sky turn from

echoing orange to that

infinite black stretch decorated with stars.

 

They were everywhere and now I need them,

they are nowhere to be found.

 

-16th September 2015

 

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