Puddles Reflecting Death

Passages trail the utter existence along brick faced wanderings with puddles reflecting death in the vast wasteland that calls from bled out dreams I listen to the footsteps, eager to please, left by the curb beneath graffiti warnings in spray painted quotes dripping with ease and intent Their cadence sends splashing ripples onto nicely pressed slacks, collecting glares from bus stop loafers with exact change and nowhere to go As I find my existence fading in the far back seat, staring out of a smeared rear window, exhaust fumes wave good bye to the nothing I have become