Imagination
Depleting barrels gaining more rust by the hour,
wind blows quiet through the trees. No more turmoil.
The dirt is swept away from the premise by rain.
Dark-brown shades and black shadows, slowly creeping.
Feel the cold against my forearms, smells of moist from the metal.
Pupils wider, adjusting to the disappearing rays. Complete solitude.
Intentions of sitting, feeling lost. In the midst of this field.
Abandoned structures, no more lunchbreaks. Terrible feeling. Wipe the drops from my cheeks, inhaling softly.
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