The Downpour

“Even the sky cries sometimes.”
She whispers it in my ear,
Repetitive. Incessant. Tortuous.
I let her voice wash over my skin,
Sweetly. Seductively. Decadent.

Her voice has always been my favourite,
Like warm spring showers, over so quick,
You can already see the rainbow,
And I used to love it once upon a time,
Remembered the first time we got caught in the rain,
The way she tore off her shirt in the carpark,
Displayed herself brazenly to the world,
Take me or leave she seemed to say,
Only because no one would ever leave,
It felt like a miracle to be chosen by her.

Her voice is like chocolate and wine,
But her words are metabolic waste,
My body doesn’t know how to excrete them,
Can’t protect my heart, my brain,
Lets it all filter in like vitamins,
Soon she convinces me it belongs here
More than my own thoughts,
“Your words are beautiful but empty”
She says, a backhanded compliment,
Probably not even a compliment at all,
And she’s right, she’s always right,
But that was never the point,
Those words were still mine,
I still had every right to them.

She and I become one in the same,
And I think of it as fair in the nighttime,
When her lips are running over my skin,
Touching me ways old lovers never could,
But arousal wears off, eventually,
Love turns cold if it’s never nurtured,
Obsession is harder to free myself of,
But when that’s all that’s left at least I know,
I know that this isn’t what I wanted,
What I was promised, what I dreamed of,
Maybe one day that betrayal will trigger something

“Even the sky cries sometimes.”
She wants me sad, dependent on her,
Because she used to mean happiness,
She says there’s beauty in misery,
That’s where art comes from,
That’s when my words start to matter,
But I don’t want to matter as much as I did,
When I was twenty and romantic,
The way virgin lovers are, callously naive,
When anything meant everything,
Maybe my words didn’t matter
But they hadn’t been empty at all,
They’d overflowed with hope,
Trust her to think that that wasn’t substantial.

Even if the sky cries sometimes,
Even if universes are born from catastrophe,
Even if suffering breeds immortality,
I don’t want it, it’s not a sacrifice I intended to make,
There’s a latent instinct inside of me to fight,
I don’t care if I lose the war as long as I win some battles,
Because I want to stop fucking crying,
And she is finally a sacrifice I’m willing to make.

© Richela Rosales Maroto 2018

 

3 Comments Add yours

  1. This is a gut punch. Beautifully written, Chela.

    Liked by 1 person

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