rain- [a painted cascade]

it's raining outside-
and I'm standing on the front porch. just out of reach
watching the water cascade onto the grass
a flood of tears sent from the stars.
I wonder- the sadness they must've seen

and I look at my empty glass. resin of regret- I can still smell it
breathe deep. the stars have nothing on me
-

I've grown tired of this. this waiting-pacing abandoned corridors
living a life of broken dreams/ and minimum wage.
futility- awake to the grind. and hope there's something left tonight

-I washed away a painting yesterday. of a sky- red and orange
just to watch beauty fade. to create from a masterpiece- chaos
and I ran my fingers through the water running down.
the paint was crying- for it's meaning in life was gone
and I laughed.
.this life is nothing but what we make it.
and I've made it hopeless

daunting. are the shadows of this place- this old, familiar place
with a pseudodream. an empty heart. and a pocket once full of hope

the silence lies to me.
-

unprepared and served to the masses. I'd rather dig a hole into my heart
maybe I could see a new life- behind the illusion of emotion
change the channel and stop to watch the static. it's so intoxicating
I'd die. but the ratings wouldn't be good enough.

my hands hurt, and my knuckles are worn
I could have anything I want. within reason- and reason never was
a good friend of mine

I punctured my brain with a bullet of silk.
my lonliness is the only friend that will never run out on me
and my apathy is the only monster that will tear me apart
the soft whispers of another empty promise- tease me
taunt me- take:me:away from here.

-
I ripped the wings from a butterfly. just the other day
and watched it die.

and I'm watching the rain wash away the night.
the fireflies dancing on my tongue- twisting in the smoke
and I put my hand under the falling sky
waiting to see. if my paint will run- if my meaning will be wiped clean
and an empty canvas will be left in my wake

awake. again- at a little past midnight. sleep never comes easy anymore
and the bed is always so cold.

and being alone when the world ends- at that moment just before sleep
when reality isn't real. and dreams don't really matter
life is a myth- and these tears
they're acidic.

-
1am
another glass. and I can't sleep.