simple+object+on+way+home+poem

Nature’s disease The sun hides in the shadows, afraid to touch your old gray skin. Even grass can’t stand your presence, wilting at your touch. You stare at me with your broken glasses every morning, and I am forced to watch Rats crawl out of your cloths. You scream in my ear, like nails on a chalk boards, saying, “Look at how cruel the world is, what it has done to me.” And then I am left alone to think about you, nature’s disease, the abandoned car.