The rain shadows the tears that flood rivers down his face.
And his pain, disguised by another glass of whisky.
The battle programmed for his loss fast tracks to the victor less white and black checkered flag.
His discontent powdered and covered up from the barely breathable air around him.
His status quo reveals the statues and mannequins lives.
The despair greater than a thousand regrets.
The stars, they shone for the wrong wishes. They glowed for the unnecessary, unimportant things.
And the clock found a way to beat faster than his heart could tick.
His eyes burn more closed than open, sparked by his wandering thoughts.
And his scars reborn into wounds before they get the chance to heal.
No form or size of distraction can medicate him from his anxiety filled mind.
The storm never-ending, that the calm after no longer gave comfort.
And he is left without a choice but to accept the rain
