my life is a puddle on a rainy night, city lights entwine with faces and voices that muddy their shoes with my inconvenience . i am probably one of the outsiders too. look into the reflective waters, there is my mind, all of my memories encapsulated into each drop that come together to form my body, laying there on the ground. my body in itself is a memory, each mark, each scar, each hair, it is a memory of the temporary. i listen to car wheels gliding on the soaked ground, i lie conformable but my existence was inevitable. i know i'll dry into the ground after the storm, i make peace with being out of view. i drench myself in my memories as life wanes and the cycle continues.
YOU ARE READING
the petals on a rose
Puisiand then there will still be vultures after that'll continue to take what they can get from the residue of your pure soul [a collection of poetry & prose]
