It doesn’t rain —
it weeps through a broken mask,
the sky unzipping its stitched-up grief
and letting sorrow bleed down like silk.

Rain drips like rosary beads
counting sins backwards,
washing blood from sidewalks
but not from time.

Animals whisper first —
fur quivering with prophecy.
Dogs howl at ghosts we pretend aren’t there.
Cats dissolve into shadow
like smoke slipping through cracks in logic.

People sleep,
wrapped in their own warmth,
not knowing the storm outside
is the Earth mourning itself.

Some cry beneath the clouds.
Some grin like broken clocks.
Some dissolve —
quiet as paper in water.

They say every night ends —
but not every soul waits long enough
to see the ink fade.
Some vanish,
not because they gave up —
but because the veil closed too tight.

And no one reads
the pages they became.

I fear a ghost has taken hold of me;
I feel its presence when I tend to wake
From eerie dreams that blur reality,
A haunting feeling that I cannot shake.
It steals from me the things I once enjoyed,
And leaves an empty feeling in their place,
As if my life were something to be toyed,
Then left alone and broken in its case.
I'm at the mercy of an angry kid
Who died alone, afraid and far too young.
Too scared to face his fears, he only hid,
And choked upon the words stuck on his tongue.
Shackled to him, I try but can't escape;
To bear the burden of his sins, my fate.