Absence.

When there is no writing,

I find myself in the middle of a road,

as alone as one feels without a phone,

night draping my shoulders — a long,

heavy cloak dragging behind my heels.

Trees so tall they morph into darkness

bulge beside me — grand, continuous

borders blocking all muses from my mind.

A half-moon follows me, casting a grey

gaze on this place of no words, and

all I see are shadows.

 

 

 

Author: Mad Girl

Writer. Thinker. Perspective Seeker. Observer of the extraordinary and mundane.

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