discoloured

discoloured wrists
they belong to someone else
it's hard waking up
in the body of 
an acquaintance everyday
we shake hands at the mirror
just to acknowledge 
his existence
i stoop my head 
every other time
i see him
watercooler talk
in a loop on my mind
i just wanted 
to write poems
about love
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Author: angus macnaghten

cynical and cyclical, hit me up, ajmacnaghten@hotmail.co.uk

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