When you look in the mirror and see no soul staring back, the thunder storms lightening outlines monsters on your back.
The heavens pour rain to cleanse earths dirt , a cleanse that attempts to give some rebirth.
The skies empty out rain in a form of silence, this type of thunder reminds me a of strategic violence.
As the rain drenches gapping wounds, some that have been there longer than you assumed.
The lightening strikes and I respect the rolling roar, shattering sounds that have once brought me to the floor.
Do I drown in the rain or hide from the storm, What was the purpose for which I was born.
RMB Poetry 🖤 