It rains.
It’s raining once again.
She’s never been bad,
but she never made good.
She’s waiting for life to catch up,
and tell her it loves her.
Nothing changes,
no matter how hard she wishes,
and how long she waits,
but she’s dreaming that maybe it could,
her eyes,
fluttering,
when sleeping,
when waking,
and it’s primitive,
disassociative.
She’s not sure there’s anymore.
She has a gun,
with tomorrow scratched on the side,
and a car,
that she stole.
She’s blessed,
but she’s broken,
on the shore,
remembering who she used to be,
making friends with the past,
kissing it’s cheeks,
eyelids that flutter,
hair,
it’s smile.
She tries to replicate it,
strapped down,
tied up in terror,
trying to wake up,
make the morning come,
and the sun,
smile at her again,
as she goes free,
listening to Journey,
in a gay bar,
and I love her,
but I have to leave her,
on a train,
going anywhere,
but where she is,
because I love her,
but I can’t save her,
and I never could.
