Chance Of Rain

Though the sky made itself into a watercolour daydream,

The promise of a playdate and simple childhood memories

Left a metalic taste like the remants of a bitten tongue

In the mouth of a doll-like child.

 

"The rain will come soon,

I feel it in my elbows and the way my curls fray."

Innocence will make itself as scarce as flesh

On the fingers of Death, himself.

 

So they will play,

Subtle laughter at the irony of it all 

In a field where the flowers smell of cancer. 

Plump and untouched by the sun,

He loves the way she feels everything

With the tenderness of her novelty.

Even as the broken promises 

Of a long and happy life

Strangle the candy-coated skyline.

 

She slipped and fell,

And in a second the aches of living

Caught her by the supple wrist.

 

He kissed her with rotting lips,

Life leaking from her faucet eyes.

And the sky,

The dream began to crack and cry.