timelessly unwanted;
I am an unwanted piece of belonging.
I am not a warm Friday night nor a shinning bright sun on a Sunday.
I am the harsh Monday morning and Tuesday afternoon that everyone dreads.
I am not fixed but moving, never in place (out of space) nor in tuned with my surroundings.
My hands are cold and empty like a starving stomach.
My feet are rough and tough around its edges like the pages of your favourite book that you endlessly read when ever you have time.
And I too am timeless, because of the everlasting pain lingering beneath my skin.
24/11/2016
YOU ARE READING
at sea (i am your serenity)
Poetryjust poems (ranging from all lengths, short and long) I have written that the world might benefit from hearing. x
