jjffjj

soaking our faces like so much liquid manna no one wants to eat
like so many cold dreams like the end of an era or
like some other simile that fits perfectly right here.


but the rain doesn't have to be a simile. maybe it can be a metaphor for example the rain is our deaths -
or the rain is the ceiling of my happiness.


either way it won't stop fucking falling
and smashing against my house.


the giant puddles in my street make me blue
as i look out my dark dark windows
and think about all the wasted times we spent typing out our wishes
for unconcerned self-serving strangers to read


like lost lonely flakes
like wannabees
like ppl with a story dying to get told.