walking around the isles of the corner store,
watermarks visible everywhere my feet take root,
lost, i start to find puddles i left behind,
the cashier glances three times over, concerned.
i trip, as i try to find the exit sign
sweat pooling, joining the puddles in an effort to drown me,
i pull out, crawling through sliding doors that have the decency to open for me, asphalt burning my palms as i get out, rocks scraping my knees.
the florist outside picks me up
with smiles and a bouquet of flowers,
unsure of what to say i duck my nose into their wiry stems,
just to find out, that the flowers are fake,
the smiles abundant of insincerity,
her kindness as meaningless
as the cashiers concern,
And once again,