If suicide were anything,
It would be the storm after the calm.
The nights spent in the pouring rain,
Begging for a piece of sunlight in
An all grey world.
I remembered the lightening,
And became Thor, blindly throwing bolts
At random, only for them to come back
And hit me.
Perhaps...
Suicide was the storm and I was the ocean,
Sloshing back and forth,
Trying to regain my calmness and failing
To keep anything steady.
Think shaky hands...
Think tear filled eyes...
Think quivering mouth...
Rocking back and forth,
Trying to keep firm the exterior,
But f---ing up at every turn.
The darkness was bitter and
The clouds were threatening.
The droplets of rain shot down with vigor,
Angry drops that hoped to stab and wound.
The wind was fierce with reminiscence
And the force from it slaughtered reason.
We were rocking and filled with discourse.
The storm caused significant damage;
The ocean will never recover,
But everything grows and gouges scab over.
What once was, will be yet again.
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