Something I wrote forever and a year ago, not really about me, but someone else, and the stuff around their room. I never really gave it a title, help me think of one.
An eclectic mess of who I've been
with black tops
tick tock silver clock your black hands keep track of the time I seem to be losing
Snow globes of dreams
Polaroid pictures of a town across the sea
and magazines who claim to change
burnt down candles randomly placed between
frayed paint brushes whos cheap ends have painted ages
full of words and stories, stories far away
tattered photographs of who you once were and who I never knew
smiling faces through sepia tones.
I know it's weird, but hopefully, not super terrible. :)
Have a lovely evening.