Marmalade stains – TB

16 Jan

The descent of grace continued
Trickling into his teacup.
Another runner was on its way,
Down the all-to-familiar slopes of his rosy-red cheeks.
He’d wanted so much to be recognised,
To be idolised for his finer spirit,
Never sure exactly how and when,
Waiting for the day, someday.
Unfulfilled relationships, unfinished books, unfulfilled promises,
You name them, he’d had them.
They stained every corner of every page.


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