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.
2 for the 369 Crew:
loves it.
pour out your heart ty baby.
i got my mouth open
dood
"like ppl with a story dying to get told."
yes
fuck yes
tell it
my mouth is closed tho
plz aim for xtx
my word verification was "swart"
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