June 22, 2009
By People_call_me_tazz BRONZE, Brooklyn, New York
People_call_me_tazz BRONZE, Brooklyn, New York
2 articles 0 photos 1 comment

Cold, green leaf.

At your fingertips.

Wet, green leaf.

On your face.

Silk stuck to your skin

Rain streams down your back

Push the leaves away.

Out; out of the forest you must go

Then you fall.

Rocks crumble

and you fall off the cliff.

Down, down, down you go. Down, down you fall.

The wind cannot be stopped,

it freezes your skin, measuring the speed.

You reach out, and grasp a rock.

A rock. A rock.

The only thing that can save you now.

A small rock, fitting in your palm,

holding 110 pounds of your body

The rain falls.

You are wet.

The rocks are getting soft,

and slippery.

your hands are sliding.

Wet from the rain, wet from sweat, fear, it is called.

Waves crash beneath you, crashing harder each time,

trying to rise to your feet,

suck them into their depths.

You scream.

But who will hear you?

The murderous waves are loud.

Now, along with rainwater, sweat, and TEARS, you are going to give up.

Give yourself away to the waves that want to drown you. Kill you. Lose you.

The rain falls harder.

You cannot hear you’re own breathing;

the rain and waves make an excellent team.

Together they will take your life, give nothing back.

A hand.

A strong hand grasps your arm.

And pulls you up. And up. And up.

You are hoisted onto land, cold, wet, earth.

You take a look at the savior.

Ice blue eyes, ivory skin

Dark strands of brown hair strung over his eyes.

You mumble a question.

Who are you?

He mumbles back;

‘Rainstorm’ you hear,

and then the night washes over you.

You awaken, at home, in bed, with your

mother sitting next to you.

A word pops into your mind.

‘Rainstorm’ you murmur,

and the rain hitting the earth.

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