Sunday, 29 November 2015

4:00pm: cold bones, violet skies

In and in it seeps, into the gash
carved of disillusion, a sorrowful mass.


My bones are cold, icy, estranged from civilisation. Beneath 4 o clock violet skies, those marred by the offset glow of yellowing street-lights, this graveyard hour numbs me. Mildly authentic, I push on, indifferent, into the cold, cold world. But, when at 4 o clock each afternoon, humanity stills, hidden in knots of disillusion, I breathe; clutching words between compressed thoughts, and await the next violet sky.

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