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Monday 17 February 2014

Grey World

What If it rained every day of the year?

The sky would always be a lovely shade of grey,

And all around me the world would look so dim,

So dark, So beautifully grim.

None of that hypocritical celestial being,

That big round thing they call 'The Sun',

That villainous ball of fire that shines down with merciless radiance upon

Dogs that die in the street and the poor, poor people who weep.

None of that damned 'Sunshine On My Shoulders',

Sunshine that does not make me happy in the least.

I despise that fake happiness,

I despise it when people around me say things like 'Fine Weather', 'Sunny Day',

I despise it when they say these things and laugh and cheer like there's nothing wrong with the world,

I despise it and so I sit and sulk and wait, wait for the rain,

The Rain, the cold, merciful Rain,

The Clouds, the dark, concealing clouds,

The darkness they bring and the despair those hypocrites feel is my victory.

But till that happens, I wait,

I sit and sulk and wait and sleep and dream,

And when I dream I see myself spit on those hypocrites,

Spit on their Sun,

Fall At Them like Arrows From Above, Fall at them like-

Oh yes, like rain!

Fall at them like rain, Fall at their Sun and put it out,

Put it out like a puny garbage fire!

I sleep and dream and wake,

Wake under a grey sky,

And I'm so, so sad.

So happy that I'm sad.

Because this sadness, this contented sadness,

Is what I've been craving,

This sadness that makes me feel ancient,

Makes me experience things from somewhere else,

From some other version of me,

From a beautiful, dark version of this painfully bright and ugly world,

This sadness that flows from the skies into me and from me to someplace I don't know,

Someplace I'd love to go,

Someplace grey, dark, dim, and,

Yes indeed, beautifully grim.

And I must enjoy this while it lasts,

For even though I curse and hope and beg and wish for the permanence of something I consider so dear,

Alas, it won't rain every day of the year.

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