Poetry / Torrential

In this time,
everything is torrential.
Here,”it never rains
but it pours.

The rain drops like flies
all over the floor.
When the roof goes,
they wont even use the door.

I reside on the tendrils of gravity
in a mere card house.
While the wind knots all around,
in vain, I am hidden under the floor.

What will become of me after this storm, this life?
Surely the looters will come,
but only for my things and home
and never for me.
With nothing left to give, I will be alone

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