Awful rain thuds like untuned drums,
my coat clings like regret\'s shadow.
Each step sinks in yesterday\'s questions,
mud cuffs my boots like failed promises.
\"Look, a dreamer hitching in the rain!\"
\"Shame, his eyes are already drowning.\"
They see the coat, not the soul,
a gangster stitched from tired fabric.
This road speaks in whispered gulps,
swallowing hope, spitting out damp resolve.
\"Look at him, a mystery in decay.\"
Maybe they\'re right—I am my own ghost.
I aim for gold light, a westward myth,
through fogged-up maps and raw feet.
My heartbeat chants one word: escape,
as headlights smear like forgiving halos.