clouds filling the sky with
tension as they always do before a storm.
It's days like these that remind me of you;
The way the cold grips me, then caresses
it's just like your vengeful hand.
It never hurt me with its violence,
only its tenderness.
The light rain, as it begins to fall around, kisses my
reminding me in painful clarity of your lips which ripped,
I cannot say they never hurt me;
they definitely never built me up.
How could the slap come from your sweet whispers,
and not your hand?
It would be better if you just struck me.
It would be easier to leave.
It would be better than this beautiful contradiction,
your words insisting and pushing at my own
worthlessness, all the while your hand wiping sobs from my cheeks.
Here, I kneel in the rain,
crying for a heart that was never allowed to break.
Up ahead lightening cuts through the gentle rain,
violent but beautiful.
I cave in on myself, trying to suppress my own emptiness.
It's days like these that remind me of you.