Something about the weather echoing my thoughts that makes me believe I belong to winter alone.

The meek raindrops dripping through the notched ceiling is the slow release of all the bottled-up agony and sufferings.

Darling, it is raining in my head as well tonight.

The startling gusts of wind against the windows are my bleeding fingernails pressed against a wooden door with no one to save me on the other side.

The deep, dark murmurs heard on an empty road are the humming voices inside my head that neglect and put down my efforts.

The voices have become amplified.

Those angry, screeching cat cries is my true voice finally finding itself after long seasons of quietness and despair.

Frustration now has a voice.

Umbrellas hold people hostage under their protection just like my pulsatile depression seems to like restraining me to my lousy bed.

What a fierce lover I've got.

This gentle nature-stirred madness has made its way fearlessly right onto my once-blue skies to shamelessly prove to me that I'm never alone.