i feel the rainfall on my skin
where does it come from?
the blood gushes from a deep wound, seeping into the fabrics on my chest
i thought i could take it
the rain continues to fall
the flow of water trickles the blood down my torso
yet it keeps flowing
the cut starts to grow
it searches. Scared and confused
a creeping pain towards my back
i start to choke on my blood
i refuse to sit up, regardless if i could or not
the ground starts to be stained red besides me
not that it matters. the rain washes the mud away.
panic sets in. i start to flail.
my body can barely control itself, the mud starts to cover my face
i can no longer see. my clothes start to tear on the roots under me.
hours pass. it continues to rain.
the mud has washed off, yet i continue to squirm
my muscles finally give in
13 hours, 30 minutes and 26 seconds
is that how long i struggled for?
why would it matter now
the roots start to grow.
and they don't stop.
the first one pierces my achillies. a pain that radiates throughout my leg.
no blood flows. the root is retreating.
a second shoots up from the ground, thorns aching to rip into skin.
i feel a sharp pain in my pelvis as i lose feeling
all sensation is lost from my waist down
i always hated those things anyways.
the roots then hit my heart
one from the left, then the right, then the center.
they laugh at me.
they call me pathetic.
they call me useless.
they call me a failure.
they call me lonely.
they call me desperate.
they call me pitiful.
they call me charlie, and retreat into the ground.
they have fed.
the rain keeps falling.
salt in a wound.
the rain hits the cuts along my torso
my chest has been split open, and my stomach all but removed
but my heart still beats and my lungs still pulse
a sick joke from the act of a questionable god
the rain fills the cuts
they start to burn. and sting.
but i wince and take it
i asked for it in the first place.
i asked for someone to break me.
the rain starts to blow sideways
it starts to hurt on my skin
or what is left of it.
i take my hand and pick up my knife
small, detailed cuts. in no particular pattern.
you like to make those.
the rain bounces off the ceramic blade, ever sharp and ever beautiful
small cuts. enough for you to notice.
the knife cuts, but you wish for more.
you wish you could put it towards your heart,
penetrating the shell and taking all you have
but you're not brave enough
not brave enough to finish what you start
that's why you're too afraid to tell anyone anything
you're too afraid that your feelings are wrong
you're too afraid your friends will hate you
you're too afraid of yourself and your mind
so you never will be brave enough to jump
or be brave enough to turn the wheel to the right
or be brave enough to take those pills you set out for yourself
after all, how could you?
you haven't even written a note
wouldn't the ink get muddied in the rain?
my eyes open back up
the rain is still pouring
i can barely keep them open. the minerals in the water are still burning.
acidic? maybe. or maybe just natural.
it doesn't matter.
the rain will never stop
it is part of you
it is one with you
you are the rain
you are the storm
you are the ignored and the desperate
you are the angry and confused
but you are not strong.
you are not powerful, you are not important.
i am you.
and you are a mistake.
you deserve to be gone.
you deserve to be broken
hallucinations set in
my mind is fuzzy
my thoughts are scattered
i think of someone else. or i think of something different
the rain keeps falling
and falling
and falling
and falling
and falling
and falling
and i can't figure out where it comes from.