Dead of the night fetching winter rain over to my home
soaking the lanes that I cherish as we roam
an unsolicited guest,
with frigid stare,
its eyes pinned on me, sucking all the air
imagine the raindrops to be fervid enough
whacking at my window,
with force so rough
an incapacitated stone beating loud in my chest
a feeling, nothing new,
I have known the best,
like stranger coming after me stopping his car
or reminiscing an old wound that now is a scar.
~an original by 
