The Outsider

There are worlds of people everywhere,
A life that is not mine.
I’m swimming through the mud and dirt
Of life’s floor
Feet heavy
Head high
Alone.

Trees are my conversation,
Whispering mass sweet nothings in my ear
And shouting out so loud that
They are alive.

The sky holds me in
Keeps me grounded,
The pale blue ceiling of my life.

The air cleans and freshens my breath and
The ground gives me stability
Where nothing else can.

The flowers that decorate my world
Are the icing on the cake.
They sleep in drifts of scent upon ethereal stalks of life.
Rather like me.

Most of all I love
The wind on my skin,
Brushing away the death of cells
I no longer need.
Or want.

The outsider
Lives alive yet not alive.
Living but not
Without that which life really needs.

Thought For The Day

Why do people assume I think like they think ?