Cromequaz©

quickly it ran,
rusted like the past laps by the rain,
slip and fall,
a burnt scab gets freshly cut,
burn,
groan,
just the tar like grains,
they keep it down until it's pulled out,

but small blood still taints the tar,
until it's picked up again,

ahhh summer...

it's the toy that barely get taken out,

when it does;

it can haunt you,

and make you as lonely as the sun,

no stars,

just the sun...

ahh summer...