We are like rain drops on the window pain. We move slow and easy with out each other. But once we meet up its full steam ahead. And I wouldn't mind so much but we run out of gas way to fast. And then when you go to pump the fuel in to the car, you smoke your cigarette like you are waiting for us to explode.
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Author:
Kruits (
Offline) - Published: February 3rd, 2016 06:46
- Comment from author about the poem: This title of this poem was thought of by the 40 days and nights of constant rain. I'm not much of a biblical person but it fit the criteria.
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 63
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