katie’s unraveling, but even that she does beautifully.
underneath her diamond-hard exterior, she’s all glass,
transparent and breakable like the rest of us.

scott hasn’t been sober since the drought began.
aunt kathy thinks his throat must be the wettest
thing in this whole **** town; i think she blames him.
every night she mutters that if he was a cloud, the
rain would come back ‘cause he’d be so heavy.

travis. at first it was just the knives, but lately
we’ve had to hide the safety pins and forks too.
anything even remotely sharp. he hasn’t
left the house since he got back from the hospital.
john still has nightmares of finding him in the tub,
open wrists. i couldn’t tell if he was floating in more
water or blood, it was that bad. now i just watch him,
so determined to destroy himself. nobody sleeps.

emily’s gone. she said this place was suffocating her.
all the sadness collecting in her lungs like a cancer.
evan misses her terribly and he won’t admit it. but i
keep thinking she left to find the rain — bring it home.