Sometimes I feel like the unfinished puzzle,
That's sat for months on the bedroom floor.
Covered in dust, pieces scattered wherever,
Nothing seems to fall into it's place.
No longer wishing to be swept under the rug,
Put me together or back in my box.
I was meant to make sense, a display of perfection.
A riddle undone with no purpose I'm not.


Post a Comment

<< Home