Don't get me wrong,
I love rainy days.
There is nothing better
than sitting in a warm study,
watching lightning ripping a hole
in the dark grey, storm cloud skies.
As the steam from your scalding cocoa
rises across reminiscent eyes.
Misting the view, to give foggy screens
to see your memories through.
I love the way
lightning tips the balance
from night to day, from dark to light
then back again in the blink of an eye,
like a child flicking the light switch.
On and off. On and off.
The way the flowers sway,
looking for cover, then realising they
are stuck in place,
dripping from their petal umbrellas.
But this isn't that sort of rain.
This is fluid hate.
It brings pain, in trickles.
It can seem so innocuous,
almost like paper cuts,
It starts feeling like tickles.
Before you realise...
It is eating away at your flesh.
Devouring your will to live.
A downpour
that eyes can barely see,
it's so sneaky, almost just misty.
But the air is full of this liquid misery.
It deceives you into thinking
it's just a fine rain drizzle
Before dousing you,
in what can only be
described as hellfire sizzle.
In this hellish downpour
the combined oceans soar
overhead. Riverbeds must lay naked,
seas sit emptied, as it all seems
to be flooding directly overhead,
and then directly into your face.
A cold embrace with an angry mace.
Slumped like a drowned rat,
now floating lifeless on the surface.
Flowers drowning, but still, it doesn't cease.
Bloated flora becomes obese,
they can't take much more.
The sound of stems creaking in the breeze.
Thanks for reading
Follow this link for more.
https://linktr.ee/Wordsandfluff
You can find my New books
"Tales from the 44A" and "Stations
here
https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0DBKXPN13/
and here
continue to do this.
Peace, Love & Poetry
Kyle
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