fifty percent chance of sorrow

the rain threatens the day with it’s acidic promise of grinding the city to a stop, precipitous falling drops of pollution

the gray skies reflect the emptiness in his eyes as he wonders if they stare at him or he stares at them

the polluted flecks of misery dance along his corneas, elemental reflections of flaws when he closes his eyes

shades of lavender and green float in ocular jelly, purity in a sea of impure thoughts, as the gray skies stare uncaringly

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