The Storm

The storm finally came. The sheets of rain that have been saving up for decades are finally crashing down in waves, trickling in tear stains across the windows and cutting ridges in the mud. Thunder and Lightening do their ceremonious dance across a ripped and gutted sky. It's as if everything is finally coming to a head and even the simplistic essence of nature can sense it. This: this time, this life, this love, this chapter, they're all coming to a close – an end. The rumblings of violence that have become the sky call out to me with the same words that I weave in my head: none of this is real; it's all very 'whatever'. I'm a ghost in passing; edged with each and every lost love and bad joke. I've given up on hiding it; I wear my pain on the outside. Every atom, every molecule of me cries out and tears at itself becoming one with my mutiny. I am in a never ending turmoil. I'm poking holes in the sky.