Ah,
the rain on my face.
I am sinking in this faith.
Fingertips fallen from clouds.
Short,
cherrished breath.
I think I enjoy this desperation.
It’s nice to let it all go silently sometimes,
But still I’ll push the clouds away,
if only I could know how.
Mostly there’s sorrow sketched in my sky.
It’s an inch away from death.