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by Stick Author IconMail Icon
Rated: E · Poetry · Adult · #845885
Once in a while there needs to be a sad day for cleansing.
Blurred windows, cascading streams,
I am fogging up my side.
I do not wipe my breath away,
it adds to the sadness inside.
Blurry figures scurry around,
as if to avoid this mayhem,
yet, as all of us soon
find out, we still get wet.
I await my turn, but not today
I am warm and dry right now
but when it is my turn, the gray will be gone
with only mirrored puddles remaining.
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