Once Upon A Time, Time Stopped

It's a mess but I don't feel like cleaning

There's nothing like it, 

like walking under the rain of a winter's evening sky,

letting go of all those people-pleasing fronts that we put on

fuck 'em all until you're confronted with, well, yourself 

There's nothing like it, 

like strolling through an almost empty city, 

past shop windows that are still lit

and seemingly unconcerned strangers who pass on either side of you,

they all look like the same blurred mess. 

wearing the same navy blue and black puffer jackets, 

all soaked under black umbrellas, hard-pressed against the winds 

The city lights falter at the entrance of the park 

and if you lift your head in view of lame branches of barren, dog-piss stained trees,

it almost feel like those branches could coat the entire sky like a spider's web

as if the trees themselves were responsible for the downpour

and as the wind cradles each raindrop like a chick in a coop,

it also pushes them off of the cliff when it's time to fly.

as if to say that you're not welcome here, 

after all of it, the flowers are dead and there's nothing to snap a picture of in this darkness 

so you let your umbrella fall on your way 

as the trees stand guard on either side of you as you pass 

They're naked in the rain,

one with themselves and the insects huddling between their bark,

the rain strikes your face and your hands until they turn red and unfeeling from the cold, 

and you can't feel your face 

just like always, you're not unused to it 'cos there's nothing like it

As you trudge through puddles you remember those damn boots,

green dinosaur-print wellies that you oh so adored, those darling shoes 

the ones you wore even when it wasn't raining, recall? 

Your coat hangs off of your shoulders, hugging your waist instead

it's enough for the rain to eagerly sift through the cotton of your no-name shirt,

glazing your jeans with a leather-like shimmer in the reflection of red traffic lights, 

and when you finally get back to your room 

the rowdy silence is over

You catch a glimpse of your body on the back of the showerhead

you're all out of proportion, yet so fucking you

after we're done feeling nothing, blazed in our state of aesthetically pleasing depression, 

who are we left with? 

You don't have to bother turning the lights on as you stand under the showerhead, 

cold skin burning under hot water, 

wondering how it is that the water is to you like the rain 

and your skin is to the water like the trees in the park

You crouch down as the water pets your head, 

the way no one else has ever been able to do

and if you cried now no one would hear you,

the water continues to drip through the ends of your hair down the length of your back

and you may wonder where the memories went,

what could've given you so much joy way back when

Does it even matter now that you're here?

alone in this darkness that you've created for yourself 

so fucking comfortable in your own silence

that you've drowned out the entire world just to get away from the show 

but here you are, acting on an empty stage 

and the only other person watching is you