pitter patter, pitter patter
condensation cascades
lingering on my glass
my ice cold glass of ice tea
a mug sat across from me
I watch as steam rises from it
hovering over the marshmallows
your cup of sweet hot cocoa
I lean my head farther and farther
allowing my cheek to connect
with the fogged up window
pitter patter, pitter patter
droplets of precipitation
they dribble down the glass
I watch them race, waiting
until they meet their end
the sleeve of my over sized coat
I raise my cloth covered hand
wiping away the fog, chilling my hand
dropping it too look out into the streets
I can hardly see, hardly hear
and yet, you're still speaking
never noticing you have no audience
never seeing how lost I am
though you've found me
at least the rain is more consistent
more consistent than you'll ever be
it sticks to the same conversation
pitter patter, pitter patter
and yet, it makes more sense to me
YOU ARE READING
Poems from the Hurt
PoetryExcerpts ~~ Numbness creeps into the very veins that refuse to speak for me And yet they still bleed With every puncture Every laceration Everything that is ever forged out of hiding abiding by crippling sensations ~~ Perpetual sadness It hurts And...
