The sun is sick of me these days.
He doesn't see me.

I reek of desperation.

I know this because the stars, like flowers, have closed their buds.
I'm repugnant in this moment.
everything wilts when I am present.

The sky cries for me,
The clouds send rain to wash away these feelings,

but even the rain is drowning in my desperation.

Am I becoming more dire than global warming?