These puddles collect rain,
With no where to drain.
Water gathers until they swell,
Could be a curse or a spell.
Clouds become dark,
Similar to your heart.
Thunder continuously booms,
It echoes in these empty rooms.
The wind whisps and blows,
Takes pieces of me as it goes.
Looking for a place to hide,
Waiting for this to reside.
-Joshua Scott
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