Raindrops tap against my coat,
a ceaseless symphony of sighs.
"See, I’ve shielded you,"
the coat murmurs—half solace, half jest.
Beneath me, the puddle shivers,
a face emerges,
fractured into shards of dim light,
spinning like a bullet’s whispered echo.
"It’s you."
The choice falls, heavy as ruin.
I laugh—
a puppet taut on invisible strings,
twisting into grotesque delight.
At last, even Death has turned its gaze,
and I am SEEN.