Sounds like rain

the sad vampire crawls in between the spaces the sun crawls through, inching by the clouds, with difficulty,

going to the dark like a parasite that needs that rich black shadow to pretend that life is real

as it is good to linger on in thundering frayed, grey essence than to burn again

In daylight traumas,

She lingers on the mountain,

Her ear on the harsh weathered rock

To get a hold of what trembling mortals feel

When heaven’s rain shoots down like pained rivets

And makes the earth shake,

But she no longer can find the right words to express this long sought out feeling,

Because it sounds like rain,

It isn’t like sleeping, because she cannot sleep,

But she does dream, though in small digits,

A word reaper whom cannot truly

Look up at the clouds without fear.

She envisions her halo thought up in tattered shape and form,

Sounds like rain, she understands, tattering upon her head,

As she knows her Angel is sinking into the hot house of the blonde Divine,

Sounds like rain,

She tells herself, sounds like something soft and sweet and pattering.

She must let her go, though she desperately feels it is impossible to do so—-

And sink into her immortal catacombs of

Draining, twisting prose

And cover her knotted hair with black sturdy wings, Raven dark,

No halo for her vampire thunder, but for her Angel,

At least

It sounds like

Heavenly

Rain.