It started to rain

I wrote this while listening to Lanterns on the lake-- I love you sleepyhead. I don't really know the context of it, but it was fun..

I watched you drag your hands across the brick wall, pressing the tips down hard enough to make the skin rub off, you were bleeding.

“I like the pain.” You said.

I like the pain.

Why did you like the pain?

I pondered this question for the rest of my life.

It started to rain, and you held your hands up towards the sky.

I watched you run in front of an oncoming truck, rushing to pick up a stray.

A stray what?

Dog? Cat?

I don't remember.

“It needed to be saved.” You said.

It needed to be saved.

Saved from what?

The oncoming vehicle, rushing towards it?

Surely it could have gotten out of the way before you ran to rescue it.

You waved at me, with the animal still in your arms, I waved back.

It started to rain.

I watched you pull up into my driveway. Your hair was long, and your skin was pale.

Your hair was always short.

Your skin was always tan.

I greeted you with a fair hello, and you smiled at me and walked inside.

“Do you have a lighter?”

Do you have a lighter.

I came out to the porch that night and watched you light a cigaret.

You inhaled deeply, then looked at me.

I didn't look back.

It started to rain.

I watched you lay in your assigned bed.

What were you doing here?

Why were you here?

The doctor came in.

“Only seven days.”

Only seven days.

I stood beside your bed for a long time.

Listening to the beats, they made a rhyme.

A rhyme that put me to sleep.

And when I awoke,

It was raining.

I watched your grave.

“Why did you like the pain?” I said.

Why did you like the pain.

The pain of smoke filling your lungs.

The pain of the large pills flowing down your throat.

The pain of the stabbing needles.

The pain of the tips of your fingers being scratched off.

I never liked pain.

Especially not like this.

There wasn't any smoke in my lungs, but it was hard to breathe.

There wasn't any pills in my mouth, but it was hard to speak.

There wasn't any needles stabbing me, but I couldn't move.

I felt myself tearing at the tips of my fingers with my nails.

I couldn't stop.

It started to rain.

Author's Note

tell me what you think about it! I appreciate any sort of review !