I felt like a not quite right room,
A floor, for some time that had not seen a broom,
Nor the windows allowed light through the grime,
An unwound clock with its twice daily time,
With no ticking sound, no chime of its bell,
The dusty journal with nothing to tell,
With lined pages of dim yellowed white,
That had laid open all through the night.
I felt as though I were an unanswered call,
An unseen portrait in a long empty hall.
I feel like I’m soft gripped handshakes,
Just more mediocrity and milkshakes.
Thank you M
Inalienable Write 