rainstorms back to back, his blood is of black
he used to extend his folding armsbut kept sinking into a world of harmhe got to thinkingalone in the p.m. hoursalcohol showers his heart more sour than eversevered from the mental hurtscarred from the grit of the dirtmigraines and stains on my shirtso tiredcome reap the flame from this fireits time he defendcontend to a world pretendmy help was all in vainpurple rain viewglaring out window panesmy circle is now fewgave hundreds a helping handbut they soared offfinger amputation in returnalways seeming at a loss