Darkness envelops; a shroud on a deathly figure with the midnight's dew, she embraces. Crystals of the sky's anguish ripple the surface of my skin, settle in my bones, carry me home. It descends to my knees, bolts and locks my joints. Is there anywhere else left for it to flow? It's through my blood vessels, the respite - now filling once hollow and empty chasms. The valves in my heart destroy cameral connections. Atriums and ventricles hold sombre symphonies to the pitter - patter against the window pane, heeding the warnings of an inevitable shatter. Chilled raindrops kiss warm tears, mixed into a sickly sweet venom, and a cascading trail induces haunting numbness. Tonight is a mournful knell echoing within the back of my head. She's exhausted and torn from her own bellowing, one in which reluctance plucks at strings as I force myself to neglect the pounding at the door.
I don’t think I notice my waterlogged lungs or the burns across the ends of my eyes which sting with the acid of unintelligible speeches. Monologues of people and lectures from strangers that, as of now, I’m oppressed with unwarranted words. It just so happens that I’m confined in life’s cycle and the rain seems to want to cleanse today’s transgression. I can resonate with the distaste in the back of my throat since emotions battle up, on top of one another. Reach for the smooth edges of my lips until it collapses into themselves, further down my stomach, whilst it conjures the salty, tart ache inside like the beautifully vast, briny sea. So this unrecognisable constitution of all my sentiment hides in the shadow, sheltered from droplets, beneath the bench I grieve on. And as of still, I’m dazed like a drunkard - high on the drug of death and despair because I’m thus confronted in a well of confusion. And I don’t know how I feel.
I don’t know how I feel.
The rain plummets irregularly and ricochets off the soft tips of my cheekbones, leaving fresh and clean, indelible wounds. They’ll always heal, only for their existence to reopen the scars. But in some small crevice, in the midst of my soul, you can’t fill up the spaces that spread like diseases; incurable torture and chronic sorrow- the indifferent small talk in hopes it’ll glue it. The hello’s and how are you’s only plunge into the void of those very same cracks. My hair is soaked. My glasses blurry. The hot air that escapes with my shaky breath condenses the frosty air colliding upon it, and the mist evaporates in front of me, taking away the last bit of indignance my conscious could muster. Left are the faint, aggravating murmurs of replayed conversations.
But the rain keeps pouring. It doesn’t hurt as much anymore. Perhaps because the rain was never meant to pain. A blessing from God, a relief, heaved down to my body of sin. Deliberated by the wings of angels in heaven to purify tattered corners of me. And the rain quenches the dry soil on earth, and the scorching droughts, and the evening heatwaves. A mercy of which many spin and dance in. And the rain dampens the shrivelled letters in my chests, unravelling the pages of self pitying apologies. It wants me to read, understand and let go. Still, habitually, I think I don’t know.
I think that the rain teaches me how, the night won’t wait for my misery to drown. Maybe it’s a form of atonement for all of the corrupting hallucinations that left my guts to decay. Yet a salvation from the otherwise, inflicted bruises on my hips. It’s calming in a way - oddly so. The refreshingly clean scent of the ground, relishing in the invigorating precipitation. A layer of renewal from the withering day. Without the rain, I don’t think I’d have known, of all the passion that I refused to know.
- Riya
It was raining the other day. Coupled with the fact I was so disoriented with stuff, this is where this came from. This is the third piece I’ve made since exams have started and I still can’t stop. But since there are 6 more exams left I need to start building up my page innit.
AAHHH UR SOOO FLIPPING TALENTED - I LOVE READING THIS