Slouching at a dusty table
By the company of a candles light
There is a lonely writer
But he has no words to write

Plots and characters in his mind
Seem to escape his fingertips
Most likely they were washed away
By the whiskey on his lips

In the dim room he stays
Staring into space
The paper waiting in his typewriter
As blank as the expression on his face

He sits and smokes
Upon his withering cigar
While he weeps inside his head
Wondering where the words are

The music in the background will forever there remain
Behind my ears, behind my eyes, stuck behind my brain
Colors of the rainbow, seen as though half asleep
Poems I read and plays I watch I do while counting sheep

For years my life has been hazy
Like my eyes open under water
For years my life has been hazy
Like the distortion of rising heat that won’t stop getting hotter

Waking up next to myself
In complete bliss with what life has given me
The books I keep on my shelf
And the honey that melts in my tea
The sun that creates only the most beautiful pictures on purpose
And the moon that finds it’s mirror on the face of the glassy ocean’s surface

No I won’t compare the rain to the tears of sad lovers
And I won’t compare it to the pain of so many others
For the rain is the most comforting sound in my mind
As it lets go of the clouds, leaving the grey sky behind
No I’ve never yelled at the rain, not once, not since birth
As it beautifully drips, drops, and drizzles while it pounds on the earth

-Nora R