The clouds scatter askew Into the dimness of mere moments to twilight Water jumped on my skin Playing run and hide Sifting pieces of a small town Into a phantom's mosaic I was a spectator to the familiar While mother has sent me To an errand of a quarter pound of ginger Those deformed baby toe-like things Hideous almost supernatural
A middle aged cabby stops With a knowing look On to my face that only moves To answer, not to question I sat down on the old leather chair A waft of fish and dried sweat Dust and a little exhaustion Regaining his gear, every bit A weary man and so The drive went silently As a secret. The exhausted cement path Looked frozen, deserted As a widow's heart.
There were faces of mixed hues like Technicolor film in a psychedelic haze Lined like domino pieces In the streets of this sick town Some leaving, some going To some smaller street perhaps Off to estrange their lives From grey shanties, small lumps of Grains on their shaky family tables. Like the downpour they are sad Sadder than the cabby's squeaking wheels Between the tension of the road And the misfortune of its master I say hello like an egg laid by chance In a nest made for spiders I do not belong here But the web ties me head first.
This is horrible poetry but im doing whatever i can to fight my anxiety and the persistent thoughts whenever i write