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.