When I woke this morning
the tears were there,
brimming like a lake behind
the mountains of my skull.

But I pulled back the heavy curtains
and golden light suspended me above the flood.
Hope swam, scales shining, and bloomed on the shore.

Then died
as I peaked through the blinds
to see ashen houses huddling in the rain.

Light lies.

And so the tears rose,
cold and silent behind the dam,
waiting to be released --
a perfect equilibrium settled on the surface
yet one stone would send ripples through my veins.

So it came.
An avalanche of stones smothered me,
the lake rising until it spilled over the edge,
through my sockets
and I became the rain.

Nothing can distract me from the storm in my head.