Rain

Rain rain go away and come back another day, but the rain falls on and on and down and across, and I wish that at least for once it'd fall down to up, out of my eyes, out of my mind. Whatever wishes I have or had or will have or might have had, or could have had, or will never have... wishes are illogical. And that goddamn dream, so unrelated I can hardly remember it now, but I remember what it meant, will never forget, but it is normal, since my grandmother always told me that dead people are all rotted out before their 7th year, and it must start sometime.
It's so easy to say something is normal, so that you can afford the luxury of putting it out of your head. We're cowards, all of us, spineless chickens, cannot look a hurting person in the eye, prefer to look up to thank whatever mystical and otherwise inexistant deity that it's not us.
And the rain insists on falling...