Make It Rain

Nobody asked to be born.

Make it rain.

My flesh is on fire.

It’s dark. The puddles

are my lungs? I’m sad?

See my love is shattered.

Today? What day

is it?

*

Poetry on his lips

books are on my tongue

Glasses.  Eyelashes.

Make it eternal.

I wasn’t asked to be born.

Always empty.

Swimming in riddles

and sandpaper poems.

*

Paint me pillows.

I sleep between layers

of unspoken prayers.

Fleeting joy like dripping leaves.

Gone.

*

 

Remember home

where I forgot music?

Concrete lips play me a song

 and I will sleep

in a playground of fog.

 

Author's Note

I'm always interested to hear what others have to say. Let me know how you interpreted this poem and if you believe anything could be improved upon.