It was always there, even when it wasn’t.
The thought of eradicating that from constant memory, was more terror than one could comprehend.
All along the Fence in the yard, patches of flowers grew wild.
The resemblance of one’s true colors, was forever clouded, as the load Clank of a belt hitting the floor echoed of the walls painted with such precision.
The thought of maintaining such perfection still comes to mind.
Never fooled by the neurotic, but it was still there.
A change was in the air,
Presence never felt more strongly in one's presence, without one present.
Cast the die aside the mold is cracked, never again will it hold the same way.
About the Creator
Kimberly
A former waitress, living under the California sun. I fill my days working, rage writing and sun bathing in golden hour lite corners, in what might possibly be the best chair on earth.
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