Rain pours from the heavens and pulls me in her midst,
Disguising the tears that were hidden inside and oxidizing my soul,
Scratching my face like rusty nails,
I am standing, feeling the cold torrent flush through me.
Salt mixed with dew pours down my body invoking a stream.
A black flood rushing and flowing old blood, pain, hurt, and sorrow.
Hidden feelings emerge and float to the surface,
Emitting rotten streams of anguish, delusional thoughts and... self doubt.
She comes out too, the other one...
Sneaked in without a face, though intuitively recognized by my core.
Her little black nails were anchored in my heart.
Her clutches a harsh painful reality check on heart and soul's melancholic nights.
Now that the muddy streams are washed away by these cathartic rains and
Light has revealed her face... she leaves.
Back to her place on his pillow,
That still bears a faint trace of my scent on fresh rainy days like blossoms on a limb.
The rain is cleansing me, washing me.
My body and soul slowly regain color and composure.
The floods make way for a heart once broken that now beats stronger and
A soul that is attacked but still survives.
While the screaming crowds hail their saint they claim to know so well.
Whose words warm their cold and lonely nights,
Their nails on edge to protect the mass from new intruders,
I sneak out the back door, fresh, vulnerable and open,
Carefully unfolding and closing again after this...
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