i sat in the storm.

haven't double checked what i've written. just some s**t.

It is raining.

I am cold.

The rain acts like knives digging into my feet.

My stupid feet, exposed to the winds rage as I to the cloud’s shadow.

Drops.

They built like freckles, dancing on the window pane.

I shiver as they fly through to me

They take residence on my nose, dropping down to the crevice of my lips

Where I shatter and sigh, yet muscles relaxed and eased

I feel no pull to move. No notion to leave.

The cold welcomes it’s arms around me.

It welcomes me more than any of the sun’s rays ever did.

The air I breathe in passes through me with easing pressure

I can no longer feel my feet.

Each toe, frozen by the wind. The bones locked, veins frozen.

The blood circulates like the fan above. Slowly, with only the pressure of the building wind to push it’s wings.

The promise of nightfall lies somewhere behind the white.

For now I do not know how the day will end. 

The sky, replaced by only a shade of grey.

It doesn’t act. It is, for its sanctuary of protection, however unruly and bitter, my blanket.

The bitter winds keep calling my name.

Oh, do I want to go.

To travel it’s pockets and fill my body with its smoke

To lie with no consequence and feel my body slow.

Trap myself in the hornets ness. Bite my skin, let my body radiate in blue

For that is the colour of the sky, masked by my-

blanket.

Soon the black will follow. The grey will obey.

For the moon is the only hand the cloud’s eyes will follow. 

The sun lies, defeated.

Maybe this way the earth will grow. Maybe this way the grass won’t shrivel, my eyes won’t blind.

F**k the sun. I feel the rain. 

And it feels

Real.

More real than any of the sun’s rays ever did.

My feet are frozen. But they work.

For they think on their own, now. 

The rays have died.

With that, the street light’s eyes open.

Orange floods my vision. In some way, i believe it to have the sun trapped in it’s windows.

It overlooks my house. I should’ve known. The light is always following. The sun will never die, as the moon will never back down.

I can see my blood again. Down my leg, it pulsates with the crimson paint I use.

It shines blue, and purple, and green.

It feeds me and I feed it. It takes from the sun and the moon also shares.

My body tingles with it. With the life.

For now, my heart lies steady.

Thump. Two seconds. Thump.

But yet, with every breath the grey takes, it stops.

Shivers down my body. 

Reminds my heart to beat again.

And it does. And I can see the sky again. Lifeless, but moving. Swaying.

The branches fall with the speed of my sight

Maybe more, if I had not blinked so much. Maybe I could see a lot more if I did not close my lids.

Maybe the sky turned purple. Or the trees lay blue. Maybe my house burnt to pieces, or the light shone violet.

If only I did not blink.

As I think, the street lamp shudders. 

I understand.

Even light, a trapped sun in a man’s cage

can fall. 

Indigo has replaced the colour of my skin. The clouds part to a sea of blue and finally, i can see again.

the buildings light up in an array of fire.

each street, burning.

i press play to the world. to the cars passing up my street.

i hear the distinct ramble of the train below. 

the passenger’s journeys end somewhere i am unaware of. 

because i will never know. we will never know.

just another stranger’s glance.

you see, they’re close.

the cars that pass me. if they were to slow, i could recognise a face. 

but that is not how it works.

for i am metres away, we will never know.

i will never speak to them. nor them to me

we will not share secrets and i will not fathom a smile

for once i think this thought, they’ve probably travelled a mile.

away.

where they were going; where they went

instead, i lie here, writing my words.

the words that bubble through my mind, looking for a place to belong. 

their letters wrap tentacles around me.

i cannot stop. without them, i cannot breathe.

words float around my mind, through my veins, in and out of my lungs,

it overthrows my thoughts, takes a hold of my being.

and i can’t stop.

i can’t stop words. 

without the arrangement of letters formed by small dashes and curves, remnants of my body lay to die.

Author's Note

let me know whatever. i literally do not know what i have written.