as skies grow dark, so too within my brain
my morbid clouds appear. hope is snuffed out.
my trembling mind stands silent in the rain
and, willingly, gives in without a shout.
its saturated fabric tears once more.
I fight against my chains, but still you die.
I flinch in voiceless sleep. upon the floor
my knife, still clean, seems caked with blood not dry.
I grip the bed, or try. too late, too weak.
and pain, and pain, such pain, such endless pain
consumes the voice of reason that I seek
to stop the rain. I’m raped. I’m raped again.
and yet it still pours down. when fears subside
damp worthlessness is all I’m left inside.
the disjointed nature of this (rubbish) sonnet reflects the inside of my head during my depressive episodes, which are usually a few days long.
