Daily Life Hero

It is not the cold bite of heavy rain that kills me.

It is the steady drizzling, eating away my warmth.

It is not thunder, storm and black clouds that pale my light.

It is the ever grey blanket above me, around me, that darkens my eyes.

It is not the pain of a strong wind tearing at my frame that leaves my mind dying.

It is the constant nagging of an aching head and heavy lids.

It is not the water dripping on my cheeks that drowns my life.

It is the unbroken wave of short joys and a long nothingness.

It is not because of the storm, which rages outside, that I ran away from rain and wind into the cosiness of my shelter, but the craving, the need for pen and paper to bring me to feel, to live, hair still dripping wet and thighs burning from cold.

(Paper is not meant to get wet.)