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When It Rains
The storm is rising, the rain has come again.
It's so much easier to cry, when no one can tell,
where the rain ends and the tears begin.
Suffering is almost easier, when done alone,
no one else's pain to share, just so much easier,
with a heart, cold like stone.
The rain is beautiful, in it's symbolic way,
somehow.... somewhere, we still believe,
it can wash our sins away.
The fury of the storm, deserves it's due,
howling with such power, raging with such force,
casting it's spears of light, cleaving through,
the darkest night.
Stinging rain and whipping wind,
once more hiding me in the dark,
where I can bleed again.
The cleansing rain, washes away every trace,
of blood before it's seen, clears it away.
I don't have to see, how much I've bled,
can't tell how much I've lost,
without the pounding in my head,
with the rain cleansing me,
in such a warm and gentle way.
It never really stops, no matter what,
it's just temporarily staunched,
with the if's and but's.
No matter how far I cut, or how deep I dig,
there is always more, pain to bleed,
always more, rage to feed.
It's like a disease, that feels so good,
always there, just out of sight,
waiting to for it's chance to feed,
waiting to find someone,
someone to bleed.
I keep it in check, in tight restraint,
often do I pray, that these demons of pain and misery,
are never released, because I'm afraid,
on that day, my humanity will cease.
When you give it all over, and you let those demons out,
it's so easy to go too far, so hard to stop,
when you've opened up all those, badly healed scars.
