Cold slate grey existence
always individual fractions.
Never ready, always hiding,
shield my eyes from onlookers,
shield my ears from criticism,
loose skin waiting to tear;
worn too thin, held too solid.
Seen too much turmoil,
borne too many scars.
Unable to muster strength,
sink slowly into earth,
grey turning blue, turning green,
turning away; abandons me
when needed most
or needed least.
Alone at last








10 old applause
