The Rain On Monday

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

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52. Dead

You were like a country.

Your veins like rivers, your blood like water, and your heart like fish.

Your flesh like sanity, keeping everything together.

Your bones like the people, in the middle of it all.

Your eyes like the ocean, stranding fishermen and drowning the innocent.

One day, you built a dam in a river, and the water stopped flowing, so the fish couldn’t breathe.

Sanity deteriorated slowly, decaying sadly, and the people lost their minds.

The ocean dried up, and no one ever drowned or was stranded again, but the creatures living in it perished quickly.

The country was dead.

You were dead.

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