Pluviophile
(n) a lover of rain;
someone who finds joy and peace of mind
during rainy days.
Its raining again, I smile
The shadows of the droplets
Flickering in the window are juxtaposed upon my face.
I watch the delicate lines run down along my skin
Two of them parallel with eachother form a tic-tac-toe board
Between the shadows and the scars along my wrist
I chuckle with the morbid humor of carving in my first move. X. Bottom right corner
It's a smart move. I can move many ways to leave my opponent helpless
Distracted, I look again out the window.
I think about how as a child I watched
Wide eyed with ecstasy as two drops
One right next to the other
Edging
Edging
Edging forward.
One racing the other
Both eager to reach the window pain where they will finally be free of my unforgiving gaze
Last time I watched two drops race like that they were red.
The poor wood floor was stained with their bitter victory
I think now about that race.
Breaking my trance my eyes shutter over to the throw rug that I hide my sins under
I walk over and stand upon it.
I can just barely see the window from this angle.
I see the cold white tongue of lighting
Flickering it's serpents tongue in the distance
I remember a cold tongue.
The same one that degraded me
Told me nasty things
I remember walking threw the halls of school and hearing people muttering being me
'Look at her!'
'Hey guys who let the cattle out the barn?'
'Does she even own a shower?'
I felt spit sting the side of my face.
The crack of thunder brings me back,
I'm dizzy with displeasure
My blood has gone colder than before
Colder than the knife that cut me.
The rain intensifies as if it sees what I'm doing
What chaos I'm bestowing on myself
The smooth grip of my Father's 44 fits elegantly in my hand,
It feels like it's just an extension of myself,
As if it belongs there as much as my fingers do.
The chrome lined rifling grids out the direction of my bronze freedom fighter to fly
I look at the back of the barrel,
It reminds me of a toy spyglass I had when I was young,
**** the hammer
The thunder rumbles over the screams of my family...
Oct 28, 2016
Oct 28, 2016 at 8:45 PM UTC
Pluviophile
(n) a lover of rain;
someone who finds joy and peace of mind
during rainy days.
Its raining again, I smile
The shadows of the droplets
Flickering in the window are juxtaposed upon my face.
I watch the delicate lines run down along my skin
Two of them parallel with eachother form a tic-tac-toe board
Between the shadows and the scars along my wrist
I chuckle with the morbid humor of carving in my first move. X. Bottom right corner
It's a smart move. I can move many ways to leave my opponent helpless
Distracted, I look again out the window.
I think about how as a child I watched
Wide eyed with ecstasy as two drops
One right next to the other
Edging
Edging
Edging forward.
One racing the other
Both eager to reach the window pain where they will finally be free of my unforgiving gaze
Last time I watched two drops race like that they were red.
The poor wood floor was stained with their bitter victory
I think now about that race.
Breaking my trance my eyes shutter over to the throw rug that I hide my sins under
I walk over and stand upon it.
I can just barely see the window from this angle.
I see the cold white tongue of lighting
Flickering it's serpents tongue in the distance
I remember a cold tongue.
The same one that degraded me
Told me nasty things
I remember walking threw the halls of school and hearing people muttering being me
'Look at her!'
'Hey guys who let the cattle out the barn?'
'Does she even own a shower?'
I felt spit sting the side of my face.
The crack of thunder brings me back,
I'm dizzy with displeasure
My blood has gone colder than before
Colder than the knife that cut me.
The rain intensifies as if it sees what I'm doing
What chaos I'm bestowing on myself
The smooth grip of my Father's 44 fits elegantly in my hand,
It feels like it's just an extension of myself,
As if it belongs there as much as my fingers do.
The chrome lined rifling grids out the direction of my bronze freedom fighter to fly
I look at the back of the barrel,
It reminds me of a toy spyglass I had when I was young,
**** the hammer
The thunder rumbles over the screams of my family...
I wrote this is a memento to how horrible depression is. It's not sugar coated. The fact that people don't like it when it is is nessisary. Those who beleave that depression shouldent be dark in explanation are those who need this the most. Editing credit to Anonymous Freak
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