I see a solemn police car driving down the street
I see the interior of a worn out car seat
I see a child crying because her mother said no
I see different birds fluttering, from canaries to crows
I hear cracks of thunder from a lightning storm
I hear the quiet sobs from people who mourn
I hear plops from the rocks that skip across a pond
I hear lead pencils moving, behind every picture being drawn
I taste gritty sand in my mouth
I taste foggy air when we drive south
I taste a water bottles plastic
I taste the dry mouthpiece on any instrument
I smell a wet dog
I smell the musky smell of fog
I smell cooked mushrooms, that will make me croak
I smell the mild aroma of smoke
I feel my fuzzy knit sweater
I feel cool snowflakes when their is a change in weather
I feel the tackiness of earth-made clay
I feel grey