A small square of land has been selected,
Signs of something detected,
Not at the thought,
All you've brought,
All that will not be,
A reflection of me.
The branches lower down the trunk begin to twist, contort,
They’ve slipped into the ground and sunk,
They're not your sort.
I work against the patterns because you do not fit one.
Late night drinking and hours playing,
Wine and scrabble fill our time,
And in those brief hours you’re mine,
I see it.
The reflection of...
Years of frustration begin to leak from your eyes,
Sliding away - freedom,
Years of delicately planned lies,
This is your bespoke kingdom.
This is not the way I'd thought you'd be, reflection of...
Something in the not too distant future.
We just sent you an email. Please click the link in the email to confirm your subscription!
OKSubscriptions powered by Strikingly