It’s a strange kind of prophecy, crying in the parking lot. Not sure you were a genius knowing it all ends in pain. You held my wreck-less station. I’m still standing in the shadows, waiting in the rain.
Dying, a poem of sorts
It’s a strange kind of prophecy, crying in the parking lot. Not sure you were a genius knowing it all ends in pain. You held my wreck-less station. I’m still standing in the shadows, waiting in the rain.
brian sostrom 
this is absolutely beautiful! ⭐️
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Thank you, I am a painter so just experimenting with writing here and there.
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