Here comes the rain again,
Here comes my ecstasy.
(Strumming on my head like a memory,
Tearing me apart like a new emotion)
Here comes my lunacy.
It's days like today that twist my gut (or
wherever these thoughts come from) and
send me on a sickening ride through
this life sucks. I find it hard to sit,
hard to fake an assiduousness I don't
feel, hard to keep up the pretense of
happiness. This sky gives me license
to mope. I take long walks, get soaked
through. There's nothing like being miserable,
cold, and streaming rain. Exhilirating is the
word, but nowhere near strong enough. It's a
rush, a thrill, a sort of masochistic
victory. Lonely thoughts float in my hollow
consciousness, not connecting, not concluding.
Existing. I turn my face up to the
unforgiving sky, I'm dressed
in all black as usual, blending into the
landscape of wet stone, slick cabs, umbrellas.
I am almost invisible, try desparately
to be so. I think of disappearing, hopping
on a train to anywhere. Chalk me up as another
statistic. Here comes the rain again.
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