About certain metaphors my senses become leaky
Can you hear me trickle
With these phrases my limbs tremble like awkward syllable dances
Night is especially prone to this phenomenon, morning is clueless
Friends don't know so empathy is dry
Care to listen to ramblings of the dead come alive, print on a page
Even if I'm denied of that, they never could make me feel less than every feeling compounded

-cj

May I see the rain, she asked the teacher politely
No, the teacher replied, the thunder in her voice
A frown and smothered protest
Nothing to quench the thirst but thoughts of drops, descending, bending time
A truly sad tale, to be remembered in every storm

-cj