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Try Again
March 27, 2024
The smell of the gasoline and the pretty image of the purple-pink dogwood trees,
the cracked concrete under my feet, as I walk through the lonely streets.
The skies all dark, it's about to rain,
and it feels like it's storming in my brain.
Walking onto that tile floor,
I walk through the empty corridors.
At the very end, around every corner, around every bend
there seems to be something amiss.
I try not to freeze, I run faster than the breeze;
but there seems to be something I missed.
I run through the first door,
it seems to lead to another empty corridor.
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