One of those waiting days

When waiting games lack playfulness

Wasted days

A trick of chance weighted heavy with trickery

A lacklustre dance

A fit of starts

With no end points held out

Closed fists and shrunken faces

A day of botchery

Of butchered plans and stunted dreams

The sky has smudged edges

Ominous painting etching pointed omens

On cracking confusions

Blurred beginnings tumble over heels

A day of stumblings

Mind mists move in close

Hovering as the world seems to suspend itself

In monotonous movements

Monotone palette


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