Mar. 28th, 2017

tigriswolf: (a bird may love a fish)
Written March 27, 2017

A couple days ago, for reasons I still can't pinpoint, my mood plummeted from happyish to wondering what the point of being alive was since I was so sad. It was storming outside. I really wanted to cry, but couldn't seem to - so I went into the frontyard and stood in the rain.

(After a nap that lasted half the day, I woke up no longer wondering what the point of being alive is.)



Clouds roll in,
dark, full of thunder,
a freezing wind
and icy rain.
I stand,
smelling smoke,
ashy, soot-stained,
letting the sky cry
the tears I cannot cry.

Gaping wounds heal,
flesh knits back together,
become bruises, become scars.
Sharp pain lessens to aches.
Aches fade—

The pain turns to a memory
that hits suddenly,
in flashes like lightning,
in waves like thunder.

Head tilted down,
hair loose, icy rain
soaking into my shirt,
dripping down my shoulders.
I lift my chin,
eyes dry
while water washes across my face.
Freezing wind whips around me,
and I ache, but shivering,
no tears come—
So I let the world weep for me.

Suddenly, sometimes I don’t
even know why, what
caused it, how to keep it
from happening again—

Clouds roll in, dark,
full of thunder, full of ice.
Clouds roll in as I remember,
as I shudder in the wind
while the sky cries on my face.

I tilt my head down,
close my eyes, shiver and ache.
High above me, thunder
shakes the sky, lightning
burns—burns.
The sky cries for me.

Clouds roll in.
I smell ash on the freezing wind.
There is soot on my hands,
so I lift them to the rain.
I cannot cry—
I want to, but no tears come.

I stand in the storm
so the world can grieve for me.

Eyes closed,
face towards the sky,
the clouds roll in
and I inhale
air clear of smoke.

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