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?
Apr 16, 2019
Apr 16, 2019 at 4:24 PM UTC
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?