Three days of rain (and I believe this might last forever)

Sometimes you have to wait for the flood to end. 
My chest weighed down like a penny in a puddle,
I wonder if wishes apply to wayward pothole pools;
at the edge of the road, I wait for a dream to surface. 
The muffler smokes exhaust while the engine rumbles
and the steering wheel beckons me, I leave for home, 
rather than sitting under the elms as thunder growls. 

Too freezing for the marigold and snapdragons to bloom.
The tall grass has faded from green to a jaundiced yellow
and the sticks of other shrubs can barely form a harmony;
in the sickly cold, they finally shiver off the smell of pollen.
The cherry trees have dropped their last crumpled leaves 
and when I jog inside, they do not crunch under my feet,
rather, there tolls a muted patter of my shoes against concrete. 

In this framed house it remains the same as the outside. 
Cobwebs build canopies around the pendulous light
and the morning pipes howl louder than the winds;
in my floor-bound bed, I hunker down to preserve warmth.
The window again holds a gloomy portrait of the damp earth
and I stay in my closed room, ensnared to my dirty sheets, 
rather than starting my day on a good numb foot.

I am accustomed to hollow feelings and rainy skies. 
Clothing is sporadically piled in clumps across the floor
and the smell of dragon blood incense persists still;
in the prime of my life, I am left feeling wasted and frigid. 
The 9th alarm rings after the 8th click of snooze this morning
and I cannot bring myself to sit up, salty drops fall to my bed, 
rather the comfort of blankets than the slice of disappointment.