marching at midnight

Dipped and dyed,

And saturated
In too much
With too much
And ‘deurmekaar ‘ with too much
Ever since your fourth birthday
And that was the terminal mistake

The idealist get their knickers in a
Twist …
The anxiety made you stare
You dropped the ball
The potatoes got over cooked
Your mind was somewhere

Else

Too much chaos -Too much beauty
Too much turmoil
Too much anxiety at the turn of midnight
Lying awake

Running inside the wheel
A never endingĀ Miniseries

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