They say when it rains it pours.
I pray for the rain… maybe then the clouds would go away, or perhaps part for just a while. At least there would be some change. The air would be cleaner… it might loose that stench. The stench of gloom and despair that it holds so tightly.
But for now, day after day, unending, unchanged, it remains the same. heavy.. thick.. air.. and gray sky and I live in it. Where is the rain?.. |
© Melt Magazine 2001
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