it just
turned bleak,
my future,
it just turned
a tad bit sour
like spoilt milk,
i refuse to
cry over

i refuse. . .
but the warm,
angry, drops
have a mind
of their own
they still
trace their
familiar path
racing, rapidly
i wipe them
just as swiftly
but they're
always a step
ahead of me

so i just
let them be
hoping that
in a little
while they
would grow tired,
as weary as i
and just stop. . .

i wish they
would just stop. . .