The searing grey sky affects my temperament.
And the impulsive storm flows onward,
Burning itself out; molesting all in its path.
Diagonal
The pitter-patter of shattered droplets splat noise.
I am drinking a lousy 24 ounce,
A far-off look in my eyes,
Desirous,
Always wanting more.
Staring girls call me romantic,
In their rich pink hovels,
But I know I’m just disturbed.
Prideful misanthropy caresses my thoughts,
As I fight for true originality.
I sense I am extra-human.
Deep down I know I don’t exist.
But my doleful pride depends on it.
What am I?
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