She paints the sky with the colors of her soul and soars higher than the clouds in her head. She bleeds the reds of the sunset and weeps the blues of a sunny day.

 

She keeps secrets locked away in the clouds and they too often pour into the wrong crop. The thunder, her heartbeat of rage and despair. Lightning strikes the hearts of those who know her for what she is.

 

She guards the moon, her only solace in the dark.

 

She writes her pain in journals dressed as rain drops. Drip drip drip drip into the barren wasteland of liars and thieves.

 

She sings the songs of the birds and wipes the angels tears. The sky melts. Her drops collect and pool to evaporate into eternity.

 

The cycle repeats until the agony she can no longer bare. The sky grows dark and she weeps into the arms of her own hatred.

 

The storm rages on.