The rain, it falls and tears my heart,
The sadness it brings, it won't depart,
The loneliness I feel deep inside,
My broken world, I cannot hide.
The darkness that surrounds me every night,
My soul it cries and it can't take flight,
The tears that stream down my face,
My sorrow, it feels like an endless chase.
My heartache like a never ending song,
My pain it makes me feel so wrong,
The sorrow it consumes me like a flame,
My sadness, it's just too much to tame.
The gloom it swallows me whole,
My sadness, it has taken its toll,
My sorrow it feels like it won't end,
My broken world, it will never mend.
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making space
Since the only thing that might pull us back up is caring, it only makes sense that here, long after I’ve let my anger born of heartbreak and grief misplace, multiply, misdirect itself, let the enormity of my solitude turn into something I don’t know how to dispute with, something thick and heavy and suffocating, let the coldness thrash and fight under my skin, deeper still, in between the arches of my organs; here where the ground is always close and the fall is easy and I surrender to it often, lie without purpose for hours, it only makes sense that it is here, I decide to show up and surrender to the possibilities of the night. Show up to those who I deserted. Drawn to the sense of accomplishment, something I haven’t felt in a while, to memory of finished dish sending its aroma into the world and with it, wrapping the room with a strong sense of sweet nostalgia, I get up and decide to cook. I pick up my phone, type a message that reads “Dinner at mine @ 8PM, don’t bring anything” and before my courage deserts me again, drop it in our friends’ group chat, the way one would do when diffusing a bomb in the movies: one eye closed, snip at the wire, hoping for the best.
By Mesh Toraskar2 days ago in Feast
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