Vanilla Scent

I long

to see the rain

in the beautiful light it deserves

in its symphonies of


harmonized with awkward synthesizers

in the form of people cursing and rejoicing the water alike


I want to realise its majestic composure


even by the sun

as the creator

of the things that breathe pretty vanilla scent

into our anxious lungs


not in the catastrophe

I see it to be

nor in the ruining torrent I watch

effortlessly corroding my being


all the rain seems to do

is crash my pity party parade

and sprinkle its filthy contaminants

into my gaping wounds

as if to intensify the sinfully good taste

of my innocent blood


I wish I didn’t hate the rain

and grimace at every drop

that pervades the earth

or shriek

at every snake of lightning

or bullet of thunder


But I know no other way

no other way than to abhor it

with every ramshackle of my worthless existence

because if I didn’t

what else

will I have to blame

for being the harbinger of my pain?


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