it poured that night.
so much so that it seemed
that god knew he was
in pain.
he wielded his weapon,
gripped it in guilt,
he wanted to sin.
he was alone.
so he felt a solemn comfort.
the type of comfort that
hurts
the heart and accompanies
the soul.
he could not wield his
weapon any more.
he could no longer
fight this treacherous
war against the enemy.
himself.
so he held it up,
just enough
to aim at the
source.
just enough to mask
the cries and the tears
and the pain
with the rain
as it poured, and poured, and poured.
he called god’s name,
but it just poured.
and poured.
and poured.
until his cries were no longer,
as they had finally ended.
as they fled from the sentence
of life and blended with
the lonely droplets on
his window.
and it poured, and it poured, and it poured.
and he called out one last time,
and finally made a decision
that night after god’s absence
was made clear.
and suddenly, there was no more sorrow.
no more pain, no more fear, no more shame.
simply, peace.
as the red painted a beautiful
piece on the window.
and then the rain
stopped.
-melancholicreator
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