Puddles after rain.
Or maybe I’m insane.

Storm clouds lightning cracks.
Sounds like breaking backs.

Flooding in the city.
No longer is there apricity.

Thunder drums in the sky.
The sound makes children cry.

Earthquakes crumble the planet.
Turn it to a broken cup, that’s made of granite.

Something’s wrong, the sky is clear.
Maybe it’s me, as I’m painted with fear.