Every day on this particular day it rains.
June 24, of every year, it rains.
It's my birthday, and it rains.
How depressing.
Maybe I was born to be depressed.
It feels just like any other day.
The rain pelts my window,
Bringing me from my deep slumber,
Alerting me of this day.
Everyone sings happy birthday, while I think of death.
There's nothing special on this day,
It's my birthday,
It rains.
Who cares.
There's nothing special on this day.
Every day it rains on this particular day, my birthday.
Not such a happy day.
Who cares.
June 24, of every year, it rains.
YOU ARE READING
Burning eyes
PoetryA collection of short stories and heart felt poetry that invades my mind.
