Some of us are in indescribable pain.
Meandering through the days while barely holding onto to themselves. Clutching at a line so thin.

We talk to them, laugh with them, and say our goodbyes. And although you might think they're fine, they're not. You've gone home and they're still mired in their own misery.

Whether self induced or not, it doesn't matter. They're stuck in a perpetual pattern of loathing, usually it's self. There's no light.

There isn't much you can do to help them. You can call them, you can be there for them, but too often these endeavors are in vain.

Sometimes it gets to the point where their pain is the only absolute they have. They've embraced it because of its familiarity.

Too often these people are lost to us. They're broken. The damage is just irreparable. To stay yourself would only suffer the crushing inevitably.

We convince ourselves of things. It's an auto response to outside stimuli. Some of us go defense, others offense. Whether whatever it is we've convinced ourselves is true or not. It doesn't matter.

Tears in the rain.