It's raining outside...
with drops of a different kind,
tarred with morality and sin.
I can feel it, but not on my skin
it melts, like mired paper snow,
eyes brim with flakes of commas, ellipses, and unblinked zeugmas
that they thought I'd never know

But I absorb every drop-
every antidote, every toxic remark
they eat away at my soft and white
cancerous to gently marrowed bones
yet I long for the slipping
of soft yellow butter on flaky warmed toast
simply resting onto the surface, eternally