I lived.
I lived in what seemed to be a perpetual hurricane.
Dervish like child, but mild of heart.
I practised living.
I practised loving and leaving.
I am glad that I did.
I bought the tee-shirt, filled up, wore it well.
Left nothing but a nasty taste and pungent smell.
Unsettled is the child wearing the wrinkled face of the ageing one.
The greying hair and playing air.

But, I am far less miserable.
As for now,on the table.
I present the lack of love, I so resent.
I have killed my self metaphorically.
I want some one, but I don't want me.
(C) Livvi