it’s raining on me, from above
the clouds come out whenever doubt’s around to drown hopes.
unhollow throats, frozen tongues somebody’s choking us.
just because the centerfolds never hold a stare long enough
to see if something’s there because they don’t care.
I care enough for the both of us.
subtle hope then come to note
the reality is up in smoke,
a disastrous joke.
I smile after, though.
because like a pastors hope
I bet my life on what comes after. no–
I live my life for what comes after, so
I’m done standing open-mouthed
under the hopeless clouds choking out my life
because of those amounts. I buy a week of life at a time,
but it’s worth much more than what I get it for.