We exist on the periphery.
The road less travelled,
where the sheep tend to sleep,
and the cows will always graze.
The sun still shines here
like a cheap jacket,
warm but not fulfilling.
We exist on the edge.
Where shadows are cast,
the wind still blows here
its face unseen
but always felt.
I exist on the last ledge of mankind.
Where one step would see me drift off
into a black abyss,
flying past stars that only exist
in blurry photos,
ones printed in big textbooks
where people try and understand
the painted world around them,
moments before the artist
swaps the canvas,
and we all must start again.
We exist on the periphery.

– written to Botany RD by Duval Timothy