Tuesday's Rain

it's raining outside and inside

I need to wash it out.

I need to wash it out.

Enigma lunatica raining down upon me

from darkened skies with light and oil.

Let it wash out.

Let it bleed out.

Ripped out pages from Life's book of Self,

gently brushing against the wet,

filthy half-winter ground.

Sung by the winds.

Rest is nothing.

But walls and holes.

Carved into my mind.

I will remember one day.

And rewrite the pages lost.