Melancholy with a side of rain

Paper skin,
Raindrop thoughts.
Itís hard to not let the paper tear.

It tears, and I glue it.
Glue it again,
and again.

Some days are drizzles,
Storms in others.
Sometimes even cloudless days;
the warmth reaching to my bones.

In the presence of sun,
Itís easy to forget the drip drop-
the heavy coolness-
the amplification of my footsteps-
the delicacy of my soul.

But the rain,
although never promised
it is always foreshadowing;
Grey thoughts always ready to
encroach on the cloudless thoughts.

The flow is ready to wash it all away-
my protection.
my integrity.
my honor.
my worth.
my soul.

Will I wash away?
What can I hold onto?
Who will save me?
Am I even here?

I might be drowning.
How many pages are left in my book?

Forgotten is the sun.
Written by SortaTherapeutic
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