Obituary to Rain and Those it Cleansed

I love the rain.

Rain on a dark night at a quite train station, washes away the clock that we know and rearrange the numbers into a void that sucks you in and drags you away from your mortal coil. Today it rained. I imagine your coat sticking to your canvas skin, as you eyes are washed by natures cool hands setting you at ease at the edge of the platform. I imagine the train shooting past pushing the rain out of it's path letting each droplet paint a dark mass in the seats of the carriage. I'm sure you wake up in seat 5A no music playing and no forms around. Just you and the endless journey that feels like the trip to visit a loved one you never met buried in a place you've never been

Rain: it’s the reset button we all wish we had, it blanks out what we wish could be erased. It leaves us fresh. To walk off into the rain and let my colours run and hair fall from my bleak skull, my skin melt away into a thick mess of life and gore. To be a puddle on the floor washing away into the drain is my dream, a forgotten glove at the bottom of a sewer is my companion and my thoughts simply drying up when the storm clouds past.

You loved the rain.