socall me wren

The rain again. Shots of light aimed at my face, licking the air I breathe. The hair in my nose curls from the ozone so defiantly close. That light lashes out again, barely grazing my cheek. a scar.

the thunder comes, holding my head to the ground. punishment. the rain my tears, humming against the building surrounding me. Lightning teases, fancy in the sky as that thunder puts his knee to my cheek. The hair from my head flows out, reaching for the soil so close by. I can feel the roses, bowing to touch my head. Thunder rages, rain … melting me more into the hard ground. A careless wind blows the drops across my face, moving the storm further on. Thunder releases his stranglehold but kicks my feet as he leaves. laying in my puddle the rain is all that is left. Androgynous. cleansing what torment just came over that storm. the timbre on the metal, the resonance of the drops falling so near my face. My trance. A curious mind to follow the storm away, west.

I never know if I want to walk out the door. It opens and closes
as I stare at it. Same with the window. Sometimes I stop and feel
the cold breeze splash my face. It leaves me, taking away that
breath I was saving for something else. Something less important.
I turn my back to walk down the stairs, my tongue finding a tear
drop on my lips. The air took my fear and left me open. Open to
my ego. Open to my shame. I close my eyes again and see darkness.
See peace. See balance.