des per ation on the dot

there’s a storm peeping through the ceiling water dripping from the walls water occupying the floor

no more drought: let’s spit everything out.

i own a miniature silver cloud floating over my constant head it just lays there like the rest we carry until it rains.

there are multiple gray clouds in each room we have to bring them inside at all times; people shouldn’t see them like muted agreements.

we spit it all out they scream, shout whimper and leave to the next room to fill until full.

it’s been raining inside the house since then.