I’m a rainy day parade.
A parade that was rained on
but decided to play anyway.
Neither the rain nor the parade is a charade.
Rather, the rain is Kool-Aid and the parade is a wall
of a bar.
I’m on the other side looking far
too
gone.
I sob and blub between a racket of thunder and brass.
Every emotion I feel feels crass.
Alas, are these drops tears or rain?
My life is a metaphor for itself.
Is that irony or plain?
Maybe they were drops of Kool-Aid.