a plastic bottle is thrown across the street by cars
a rush of gasoline and fumes
that bottle, I think to myself, is me.
the wind pushes it on as it hesitantly rolls forwards
the wind, I think to myself, is my breath
harsh and inconsistent
troubled
it has no problem pushing me out onto the street
the bottle gets crushed underneath my feet
YOU ARE READING
Poetry
Poetryright what it says there. some poetry I wrote. I'm a poet don't you know it?
