Author Information
10.13.04.
“Let it rain.”
And her eyes opened,
removing the barricade
that contained pinpricks of emotion.
“Tears are golden,”
he once said to her,
and she only wanted to bathe in something so precious
as liquid wealth.
The weather outside responded to her anguish,
unleashing its wrath upon the innocence of the world,
hail that beat its icy fists
against her weakening efforts
to regain her composure.
“How does it feel,”
he asked,
“to be in the eye of the storm?”
And he laughed the same cruel,
merciless laugh
that used to send her butterflies into rapid flight.
How was she supposed to feel?
