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She sat. Child-like. Soaking in the rain. The grass was not soft. It stung. Tainted. It wasn't the soft grass of her lullabies. It was sharp and it burned. It cut her legs, and the rain washed them clean. Washed everything clean. It stripped the canvas clean. The colors ran into a dark hue down her face. Her lips quivered in the cold. But she sat. Child-like. Soaking in the rain. The world had been stripped of color washed away by the rain. She felt cold. Cold and alone. But she felt cold no matter whose embrace. So she sat. Child-like. Soaking in the rain. It was lonely and bitter. But it always was. No one wanted to come close enough, unless they wanted to cover her up or knock her down. Such was fate. Such was life. Such was the people in it. She let them win. No use in trying to pretend. No use in trying.
Sitting. Child-like. Soaking in the rain. I'm calling to you.
 Made27 · Wed Apr 27, 2005 @ 05:35pm · 2 Comments |
