The Weather.

With the raindrops doing their

Classic tap dance numbers on the cruel cold glassy closed

Windows that portray reality as it is

And the howling of the wind mimics human loneliness

All hollow and substanceless

And appearing as quickly as it disappears into nothingness

As I sit by myself

Next to my neatly folded sheets and flattened pillows with

Stains of unspoken dreams and forgotten responsibilities

With a worn out dog-eared schedule book in my

Tired small hands so sick of washing dirty skin and comforting bruised egos

Overworking my mind with thoughts that

Should never occupy permanent brain space and should

Always be kept at bay and passing

Like the soulless grey rain clouds roaming the sad gradient sky

That spend all their lives suffocating the undying sun and pretending that

They are invincible.

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