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         The sky’s blurry aura of it’s clouds which feed the Earth with its sweet nectar of life.

         It’s raining.

         But the look of the outside is truly beautiful.

         The rain, I mean.

         It’s dark and yet it’s day. My eyes have only focused to the most distant object viewable from this room. People surround me, people who don’t seem capable of understanding the essence of which I speak from. I have no need to speak about them. They’re just there, with no meaning within my story of my life…

         …which doesn’t seem that exciting right now.

         My expectations of the world have changed. My paralyzation has receded back into my nimble fingers, which only seem to care more about warmth than ever. They take over my sweet fingers of which dreamed of creating my feelings to emotions.

         I don’t believe my dream catcher works anymore. Well I guess it does. It must work splendid, considering I’m not having any dreams at all. Everything trying to reach my head must be some sort of nightmare, considering I’m not receiving any.

         I miss my dreams.

         I miss my fantasies.

         I hate reality.

         I wish I knew what was behind the bullet.

         I fit was our sweetest dreams.

         Or just more reality.

         I ponder on and on of these developments.

         We had to have created the bullet to let people realize something.

         People view guns as penalties, as grudges, as discipline-

         -But what if every time we shot the bullet out into their skull it revived them of their youth. What if it made them develop their dreams, or if they were sent into their greatest fantasy. If it was only meant well, or if it was all for the best. What happens if it is just what we need?

         What if the gun was the ultimate dream.

         The ultimate ending.

         And do what you say, you decided it.

         I only watch as the sun is strangled by the gentle clouds as it struggles its way to prove it still exists today. But I believe these droplets have decided to hide from the ground. Sinking deep below what we know as soil, they sink to only be free once more.

         What was here first really?

         I’m waiting, for this rain to last forever.

         For it to ever rest its weight upon my eyelashes.

         As they fall through to gently caress its moisture upon the material that makes up my dreams.

         Its almost as if these droplets play hide and seek.

         As they slip into the ground to hide, then eventually come back out to seek from whence it came.

         They must get tired of such a game.

         Forever to play one game.

         Its nearly over.

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Comments (4)

Posted by tarhead 2008-02-06 01:20:37 reminds me of melancholy and the infinite sadness not to be confused with the smashing pumpkins - melon collie and infinite sadness... read like a leaf drifting down a slow river. + Report this comment
Posted by Egoist 2008-02-06 20:22:18 .... This was a real event that took place I guess. I wrote it in public, while it was raining. No one ever seems to exaggerate about a cloudy, rainy day, so I wrote about one. I wrote it a long time ago, so I really can't remember when that day was, but for some reason the paralyzation I speak of happens every so often in my fingers, I hope it's nothing big. Now that I think of it...it kind of worries me. + Report this comment
Posted by Pez 2008-02-19 09:05:56 .... If this is how the author genuinely feels, I fear that he/she is very lonely... + Report this comment
Posted by Egoist 2008-02-22 07:53:05 .... Yea, I was going through a depressing time when I wrote this one. It was a quick write, I was practically describing the place in which I saw, outside the window and inside. Thanks for the comment. + Report this comment

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