May 3, 2011
By Anonymous

it was 7am
the clouds all dark and grey
it was far too late
each droplet spoke your fate
down the windowsill and
to the gutters below
your face embedded in
the glass looking to and fro
cold fingers bleeding down
clear as a darkened sky
I breathed in the Morning
but filled my lungs with loathing
walking up to that glass
with soft steps and cold hands
I watched the clouds dance
spiting you out of their grasp
solemnly I stood
helplessly watching you
one streak of April rain
pouring down the empty pane
listlessly I observed
I granted you the fall
oh the skeptic I was
it was 7am
when I forgot it all.

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