I sit, and watch.
People come and go,
slipping through me
in a haze
a phase
of endless days,
blurring together.
I sit, still and silent,
letting the storm of
days wash my thoughts
away,
so I stay.
I live, barely,
I breathe.
I sit, disconnected from
the blurred world
around me.
Wondering...
Do they notice me here?
Colours blur together
like a long forgotten paints
on a slanted easel,
dripping through each other,
until they are nothing
but a meaningless melange
slipping down, down, down,
like rain,
gathering in the gutter,
touched by new drops,
swirling into new pictures
that mean nothing,
but change persistently,
none-the-less.
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