An agent, choosing freely
doomed to a  fate,  I  know not
or a puppet dangling from a string?

Imagine life as a choir of singlular ripples 
on the surface of a pond, entropic little  dances 
intersecting, until each has passed and gone, each
playing their part, in life's orchestra of cause and *effect

you were fleeting
gone
in an instant
but you left scars
on my heart
and in my head
and I don't think
they'll ever fade

the rain pours outside, and i become compelled to
pour my own self into a ****** poem that won't cover half.
pour my own self into a ****** poem that won't cover at all.

the rain pounds outside, and i become compelled to
cower into a corner and pound against my walls that don't budge.
cower into a corner and pound against the wall with my ribs.

the rain thunders outside, and i become compelled to
thunder my way into what i think i deserve that isn't even half,
thunder my way into what i think i deserve that becomes even less.

the rain is lighting outside, and i become compelled to
be lighting and light my way through rotten magnets that easily budge,
be lighting and light my way through rotten cement that won't give.

the rain intensifies outside, and i become compelled to
twist a beating ***** until i can intensify whatever's left to feel,
twist a beating ***** until i can intensity whatever is not.

the rain dies outside, and i become compelled to die.
die into a fine mist that'll leave a mark on everyone,
die in such a fine way that i'll be able to breathe again.

the rain pours outside, and i drown.