Rain t r i c k l e s d o w n the gutters into the small p u d d l e collecting below, drip, drip, drip, plop, plop, plop,
water into the falls puddle, splashing onto your stationary sneakers. can’t make yourself M O V E [out] of the r i a n. because you can’t tell the difFerence b e t w e e n the t e a r s from the clouds and the t e a r s from your eyes.
it ruined the shape of my poem, and i can't seem to change it. Maybe I'll try fixing it again some other time.