Knowing
The pressure of those memories
Shove against my existence.
Never really sure the difference between one and another,
I only know that each memory is a painful reminder
That the pressure is still there.
YOU ARE READING
Storm Prophecies
PoetryRain falls in crosshatch across the lamp lit sky, splattering the asphalt ground with splashes of reflected light. I look at the sketchbook in my hand and trace the penciled rain and smudged glow. It was shit. I let to book fly onto the muddy grass...
