it's raining tonite, i can see tiny beads roll down my window in the streelite reflection, i'm sitting here trying to write, trying to force words unto paper when the words aren't there, chain smoking winstons in a funeral procession... my mind wanders, thinking about the hookers, the carnival freaks, the stray alley cats, where do they go, when they're rained out?Birth sign: Libra
You need to log in to edit this poem if it is yours.
View more poems by tattooedbeatmessiah.