#anotherrainynight

The raindrops pounding down on the old cement ceiling are keeping perfect time with my incessant pacing Back and forth Back and forth Wearing visible grooves into the hard wood floor while metallic pings from the water dripping into shallow steel buckets haphazardly placed around the apartment provide lyrical counterpoint and occasionally, comic relief to the melodramatic Sturm und Drang of my unbreakable unease And the rain keeps drumming Drumming Drumming Drumming inside my skull as if it were my conscience "Is she going to live?" it asks me "Is she going to die?" as the dark of this place is almost a thing alive moving in my peripheral vision Taking shape Form I can see it's disastrous wings beginning to unfold into a condemnation of me of what I've become of all that I am "Is she going to live?" "Is she going to die?" The rain is pounding Pounding Pounding The drumming Drumming Drumming The buckets pinging and as the music builds to a loathsome crescendo this travesty masquerading as my inner voice offers me a challenge "If she lives, will you have the strength to reenact this all again, tomorrow night? “And the night after that.” “And the night after that.” “And the night after that.” “And the night after that.” “And the night after that.” “And the night after that.” “And the night after that.” “And the night after that.” “And the night after that.” “And the night after t “And the nigh “And t