A second, to salvage,
is all you need,
to vary your voice
on an opposing spectrum
where seasons change,
colors endure.
Nighttime follows,
before your brutal rainfall
comes to tower over you,
covering your miles.
You never knew
which way was right,
looming in the direction
of what you have left.
Pain pieces you together
lets you remain equal
with the warmth running
from your veins.
You’re always feeling
your waters unleashing,
before noticing the stains
in a grim reflection.
What have you found
in your world,
where your scars
are this vibrant?
What will you recall,
before the white-out of death
removes your quiet,
collected evidence?
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