The rain falls hard on the cobbles outside,
The stereo plays that sad song again.
Not even you, Morrissey, can save me now.
Time goes by, I sit and cry,
Looking up at the miserable sky.
What was it this time?
The sense of loss, or the knowledge of what I have?
I make myself a cup of tea,
Well, it can’t hurt, can it? I take a biscuit,
Thinking how life so often takes it.
At least I am awake,
But what’s the point of heading out into that?
Some things can wait, others more pressing,
I drink in the room, and my tea, and consider,
The time to pause, to think, a blessing.
Inside I am safe from the rain and the noise,
Save for that inside my head. The madness within,
And without, sometimes a comfort to feel they are the same.
The city is constant, much like the rain.
I take up my pen and transcribe the pain.
The sun returns, offering respite.
The rain provides cleansing, be it day or night.
The earth cries, and then sighs, much like me too.
I step outside, tingling with pride.
The day has begun, the tears subside.