Lights going off in my room. The play's over.
Sky's now lit up. And electric reality starts.
Sky is now bruised. Let the rain-leaves become healing clover.
Clouds dance, as if there's a party of damp, weeping hearts.
I'm not invited. I'm inside. I'm out of their circle,
Sitting alone at the screen and just reading some Joyce.
Rain seems to be breaking in like some nervous, old burglar,
Nothing to steal, man. I have no more favourite toys.
Trying to catch up with September 2019 Writing Prompts. Don’t know whether I will be creative and productive enough to keep it till the end of the month, but at least this is worth an attempt!