The shadows in the rain
Are like the whispers in the dark.
They refuse to go,
Forever playing
On the fallacy that is me.
The shadows in the rain
Are as the black spots on the sun,
Burning and withering
Like an ember escaping from the eternal flame.
The shadows in the rain
Are like the gray area.
They are nothing,
Yet everything.
They are alien,
Yet so familiar.
They are hollow,
Yet carry such a weight.
This superficial shell
Lives on while
The light inside is
Clouded by heavy downpour.
The shadows in the rain
Are the shapes that atrophy
And cause the dissonances
That pollute me.
They are the killing hand.
They are the schism.
They are the shadows in the rain.
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