Rain on, rain on, got the frog stomping going on. Drowning in the marsh, head deep in despair and regret, the little one looks for a peace outside the silencing of peers. Where it's only a matter of time before the click and thud. Head deep into the marsh, to drown the sounds around.
It's only not Tuesday, and maybe it's not Thursday, it certainly can't be Wednesday. Time is irrelevant with no schedule, no plan and no agenda. Following the path of the moon into the sea of the sun is all that matters here in terms of time. A coastal feeling in an arid landscape. Save for the pools of standing water, infecting those who sup at its horrid teat.
Essence of life only there to take it away with the flooding of the bowels. Rushing the black and back waters to fix a cruel excavation. Take it with a grain of rock salt and see how hard it comes to breaking the winds in times of lower set stress.
Run for tomorrow as yesterday is always chasing and today is never present.
Escape is where dreams are all hiding.