Modern Poems · Spontaneous writing

A Thousand Rainy Days

I dream of pain, too, 
of violence, of despair, and suicide.
Then wake up knowing,
sometimes reality is much merciful than dreams. 

I tear up my heart into flakes of icy snows,
that I may remember how it all began.
there was an eclipse and I misplaced my eyes
to the blood in the moon, a misidentity of everything I owned.
The nostalgia that comes with a decayed memory
of what I should have seen, before the darkness,
and the only lit places are burning, burning before my eyes.

My heart spins in a pool of grief,
oversized, awkward, and kind
quivering at the subtlest breeze. 
Nights are not always the ones to blame, 
But must I tell the story of a thousand rainy days before you?
Pardon me, love. 
water droplets on glass window

4 thoughts on “A Thousand Rainy Days

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