Is it raining where you live?

Is it raining where you live? Are there mud puddles forming in the potholes of your smile? Here, I can’t tell which side of the window pane the water is on. Nobody I know understands my poetry. My soul is a lost foreigner drowning in his own lack of mutual communication. I miss that tiny scar above your left eye the most, even though I can't remember the story behind it.

Reviews

[Shmoke-Sifted Heftlande..]

It's tricky standing in front of the mirror of everything else, especially when it's beneath your feet and threatens with the insatiability of non-existence and raw illusions of interpretation...p.s. mosh-pit, circa 1996 random wild elbow I should have seen coming.

[The Refined Poet]

simply crazy; that is, brilliant.

[Nobody.]

thanks. :)

[Kenneth The Poet]

This brims with a certain insanity I think. It's called perfection.

[Emily B]

it was raining this morning, the water seems to have dried off the window panes now, understanding is hard to come by these days, even when we are most plain with our words, very few will get the real meaning, we ache for compassion and find it not