The Rain On Monday

Written words are the only thing my mind can find ease in.

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56. Counting

You’re counting down the days until you can say you’ve held on for too many years.

It’s the 17th of February, and everything around you is dead.

You can’t help but think that you feel the same way inside.

The 19th of February rolls around, and the ice-paved sidewalks glimmer with blankets of untouched snow.

You can’t help but think that you wish you were six feet under the rotting earth.

The 21st of February comes around, and the sun is shining for the first time in weeks, allowing sparkles to radiate off of the snow, making life seem inviting.

But still, you can’t help but think that you want the sun to hide away, so the grey skies could match how ugly your mind is.

The 23rd of February is finally around, and everyone is gathered around your final resting point, holding back soft sobs.

You couldn’t help but think how your dream of death was finally reality.

Everything around you is alive, but you are now dead.

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