Gentle rain, quiet rain.
Slowly coming down.
Wait for me,
Be with me,
Only to have my crown.
On this pedestal I raise myself,
Only to be looked won upon.
Up and up I try to climb
But I never seem to catch up.
That is what my hand is holding.
Only with this comfort will I be
A person who sees flaw in all.
I care not for you at all.
I will speak my mind.
Scared to show a warm hand.
A care for you I will not show
Only because I think you're ugly.
Never to be truly seen.
Only to be seen by certain as strong willed.
Truly to strong but cold,
A corpse inside
Slowly decaying from the blue lights.
The one place that is solely manipulative.
Sunny, bright, warm does it portray.
Hiding behind rash thoughts.
Voicing harsh judgments.
Demonstrating solace to make a more discomforting environment.
That is what lies with the scattered gladiolus…
Slowly decaying into the ground…
Only to be washed away by the gentle, quiet rain.