bleeding rain

I get stuck in the thorns, trying to find the roses.

I don’t wince as they pierce my fragile skin, for I have a purpose and I will succeed. I am used to the shade of red that drips onto the ground like a leaking faucet that can’t be refuses to be repaired. I will my arms to move and hold onto those hostile stems, they feel like menacing branches of dark green, obstacles, a challenge, a deserted crime scene.

Through the war of tangled obtrusion I can see- if I lean in close enough, so that a thorn brushes my cheek and leaves behind evidence- a single rose, a ravishing shade of red, like the blood escaping from my skin, rhythmically dripping to the ground as I-

The rose, in sight, just out of reach, but I will succeed.

I grew up in a storm, and was told to be the opposite, I solved unsolvable riddles to control the weather, I carried clouds and soaked up the rain, but the storm never left me, it lives inside my head now, and the sun feels out of place, desolate in the sky, never replaced.

I made the sun feel alone, the sun doesn’t care, it just burns and burns and burns-

I can’t remember why I felt the need to be this way, to follow the illusion of a rose, but end up bleeding rain. And I can’t tell you why my eyes let the dam break, once it starts, it’s hard to stop, for everything’s always bottled up. Imagine always being able to hear a pin drop, magnified sounds that don’t know when to stop, I don’t know when to stop, so the thorns pierce my skin and the storm lives within.

At times when the hour is late, I walk the long road to nowhere alone and pray for a sign, a sign from the stars, a sign of stars, but the night sky is dark and silent and unknown and I am completely, irrevocably alone.

I wish upon a star that pulls me in, though I feel it not, I gravitate towards it, as does everything, every living and non-existent thing on this planet I call home gravitates towards that burning mass of hydrogen and helium, of heat and light.

Could I take away the stars and leave behind only the sun? Would I, if you asked me? Am I everyone to no one?

Am I willingly bleeding rain, letting the thorns pierce my skin? Has this brutal storm within become a part of who I am?

I know, I know, this madness has to stop. No more rain that dissipates to tragic teardrops, no more bleeding just to bleed, no more thoughts that don’t belong. I will rearrange the weather, let the clouds cry endlessly, and this angry storm inside me will colour the sky, you’ll see.

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I’ve been incredibly busy lately, so here’s something I forgot I had written. Thank you for reading and have a lovely day!

With love,

Ella