Midnight Lullabies

06 | Thunderstorms

I don't know
if it's insomnia, dread, or fear
that loves to keep me awake on rainy nights

because every wave of pitter and patter
on the foggy windows
every pure drop
seems to pierce a hole in me

how ironic is it
that even the purest of us
are capable of inflicting pain

it doesn't bother me though
despite the gaping wounds
for I'd rather you not be the cause of your own scars

your porcelain clear skin
cannot and shall not bear
the marks of a battle

on nights where the Angels
would wash the world
and scrub the lands
of our sins
only for us to drown in them

on nights like this I am reminded
of the sins I've committed for
a certain 'who' who doesn't know of me

on nights like this
it is not the sins I'm drowning in
that delivers the final blow

it is the thoughts
and the blood that stains my fingers
that simply refuses to budge
no matter how hard I scrub

the stale blood that our corrupt world
is drenched in
and yet we fail to see it

we fail to recognize the chaos
and the frenzy
in the midst of wars

because you never recognize the mess you made until there is nothing left

and what a mess you left me in
and there was nothing left of me to break
for I bear the weight of all your sins