I remember things. Things about before. Things like sucking my thumb as a child, and making up songs in my head. I also remember other things. Bad things. The type that's hot when it hits you then buries itself deep inside and becomes cold. And hard. It stays with you for so long that it becomes a scar.
I remember water. The type that runs from your eyes and tastes salty. The water that's supposed to quench the fire but only makes it worse. You think about things that you know will hurt you, but you can't help it. And the water comes. The salty water. But it's bitter this time and sharp all around. An individual tear will cut you to pieces but a drop of blood can dry them up.
I remember not caring. The good type. I feel careless and reckless and balled up in despair mingled with anger and confusion.
The bad type.
There's no good type...
I can see everyone else; remember their smile, but mine is missing, where's my smile? The tears, they're sharp, the blood, it's hard. My screams, they're small, but they're silent like the drizzle on a dark rainy day.
It's raining inside.
It's raining hard...
The thunder is my noise, the lightening is my face, the skies cry my tears, the blood washes them away.