But I was awake then,

wasn't I?

you see, you don't think I remember.
But I do.

there was sunlight-

the kind of sunlight
that filters through
inescapable particles of dust, no matter
how much
I hate
to be able to see myself breathing them in.
the kind of sunlight
that absolutely glares
up off of the oil
on the asphalt
in the evenings
and blinds you hysterically.
the kind of sunlight
that swiftly stills
your rattling skeleton
and begs you to stare
"But mother, only for a minute..."
the kind of sunlight
that makes me remember
my own unanswerable questions
about my subtle deterioration
my inevitable decline
into this utter chaos
that is myself.

and through this degradation, this decomposition, I realize
that I can't help but wonder:

when did these superfluous trees take root?

where were you when the first seed of doubt landed on the surface of my parched, withering mind?

and, my God, why on Earth did you let it rain?