Rain

son

The sky above is grey, dark clouds weep tears, it has a magical quality of drenching everything around it, the blossoms and the trees, in its all encompassing misery. Though, it is not total misery, it is a slow, numbing virus that eats away at ones self.

My old soul creaks under the weight of the ticking seconds, the darkness that engulfs me. 

Toni-Yvonne

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