Friday, 30 December 2016

Gist.

I have no idea if you think this is normal.
I have no idea if you think this makes sense.
Whether this sort of life is light for you,
Whereas for me, it's heavy, dense.
I feel a cloak, a thickening mist,
And I have no idea whether you get the gist,
Of the things I do and do not say,
Because I'm always here.  I always stay.

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