i keep missing
the storm
driving through
aftermaths with
a tinge of
disappointment
as the wet streets
remind of the
rainfall not
meant for me

all i see is
what is not meant
for a stain
such as myself
unable to catch
the rains and be
washed away
into the sewer
where my kind
are supposed to
thrive beneath
the bustling cities
and happy folks

chasing the clouds
yet consistently
reminded i do not
deserve to be cleansed
just love’s pariah
a tarnished memento
of impoverished
wonder in bipolar
flashes of painful
fucking clarity
fizzling out in
a town near you