They said rain would come.
It did, but it wasn't the kind she needed.
They said that the rain would wash away her fears.
That it would wipe away her tears.
Maybe there are different kinds of rain.
The rain she felt somehow didn't wash or wipe away anything.
The rain she felt on her parched skin, seeped through her shrunken pores,
Drowning her soul with every drop absorbed.
The rain that fell on those frizzy curls framing her face didn't hydrate.
Instead, the rain dampened and dragged them down,
All the way to her knees.
The rain she felt on my tongue,
Was not sweet, soft nor refreshing.
The rain that lashed at her taste buds,
Burnt, tore and drew her breath out.
The rain, somehow, stagnated around her,
Flooded her boots that swore to keep her dry.
Each drop festered on her skin,
Each square inch of sensation fumbling to drink it in, swallow it down,
Fighting for the moisture,
Feeding the furrows of dread.
They said the rain would come.
It did, but it wasn't the kind she needed.
They said the rain would come.
It did, but it wasn't the kind she needed.
They said that the rain would wash away her fears.
That it would wipe away her tears.
Maybe there are different kinds of rain.
The rain she felt somehow didn't wash or wipe away anything.
The rain she felt on her parched skin, seeped through her shrunken pores,
Drowning her soul with every drop absorbed.
The rain that fell on those frizzy curls framing her face didn't hydrate.
Instead, the rain dampened and dragged them down,
All the way to her knees.
The rain she felt on my tongue,
Was not sweet, soft nor refreshing.
The rain that lashed at her taste buds,
Burnt, tore and drew her breath out.
The rain, somehow, stagnated around her,
Flooded her boots that swore to keep her dry.
Each drop festered on her skin,
Each square inch of sensation fumbling to drink it in, swallow it down,
Fighting for the moisture,
Feeding the furrows of dread.
They said the rain would come.
It did, but it wasn't the kind she needed.
They said the rain would come.
