Its raining...
and its cold too.cold that injects my weakly guarded strong soul. cold that spears down to the core of sensitivity and tickles the cartilage of the destitute lonely that wanders through unchartered streets.
The streets are dry. the wind is hollow and the destiny of that empty street is designed by the pattern of surging sameness found in the dry crumpled leaves of an existence that has ceased to breathe fresh.
The pain jabs and the throat becomes parch.it sends shivers which culminates in goosebumps. the ears buzz and the vision blurs...
what am i? where am i? how am l? ahen am i? who am i?
who is i...
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