You hold me again. In your arms. The rain is pouring even harder now, coming down like warm, wet paint splattering our arms and faces until we're drenched in it.

Ask for help

They tell you,

But when you do,

They refuse to give it,

Be yourself

They chant,

But when you try,

You're told to hide away. 

The light flickers in my bedroom

as I brush my hair;

I remember that theory that it’s someone dead trying to speak to you,

I’m sure it’s just a thing from movies.

The light flickers again in the bathroom