downpour

for the weekend wordsmith , with the prompt torrential rain.

the flame succumbing
helplessly
tried fighting
tried living…

washes away every part..
every ash..
every mark…
no more trace…
not even smell…
what’s the point of
going back from hell?

sun’s nowhere to be found,
rain’s here to stay,
quenching the needs
of this lonely ground.
taking away every picture,
every talk,
every whisper,
everything that’s painfully
reminding me of you.

should i be in heaven?

how to get there,
i will never know,
since the only path
I’ve taken…
was when you’re holding
me close.

cleansing me,
as i walk out and bathe,
releasing the ache
of hiding in the shed.
blessing me with
pleasure…
for not feeling the pain.