You make your own dreams.

Pitter patter hear I
Miserable drizzle from
Boring white sky
No thunder for lullaby

Trudge up to the hilltop I
Jackless is this heedless Jill
Two pails I fill, not one
Haul them down to the windowsill
Slosh one straight at my flowerbed
Roses burn as roses red
The second I lift overhead and tilt
For split second rain to clean the wilt
Of a sad, white day
With that peculiar sense of decay
I dislike so much

Whine whine whine

There are days like fireworks in space and then there are days when you're climbing up a fucking chimney - sooty and asphyxiated. The days in between are forgotten as they melt into an insignificant background grey. There should be more to life than counting days and weighing soot.

Drinking from the sea.

Bitter cold brine
I can feel my spine
Grow weak
Thirst, unquenched
I stagger
And fall
Manage to crawl
From my sprawl on the sand
A little farther
Into the sea.