The air is glazed with moisture,
Potentially unreleased tears being stored
for another rainy day.
At breaking point, I hear the tension
I know, I know, the sugar coat will shatter and
explode into rain.

I b r e a t h e in to the tip top point
my lungs have decided before.
That freshly-cut-suburban-grass perfume
lingers in my nose and the trees are swaying
mournfully under the strain of a sunset.

I feel my own uncertainty,
tangled shoestrings and
crinkled feet over shards of glass.
I am following the familiar cement,
weary of cracks in my own life and itself.
grey.
mundane.
abstract art if I twist my head,
I am searching for beauty as I do not recognise it anymore.
We never realise the extent of our own conformity;

I follow mindlessly further down.

I wish the sky would decide on its colour
I wish the clouds would regroup equally
I wish the breeze would choose a direction

The world is still spinning without me.