"High on the hill where the rain came down."

You smell like rain on dry earth.
But far brighter than any thunderstorm I've known.
And although I won't show it right now,
I'll appreciate it later.
Even if your rain on my skin is more than I can take,
It still captures every inch of me.
Intoxicates every cell.

Yours is volume. Silence mine. You whispered every word.
You're shouting. Under your breath. In my ear.
Your persistance is where I fall.
Screaming at the top of your lungs, so loud only I can hear.

Your thumbs press in again in vain.

It's not going according to plan, not the masterpiece you'd hoped for. Now the clay's turning to mud and it's falling apart and leaving dirt all over your hands. You didn't ruin it, it's just how things turned out. The would-be pot became a puddle.

You need to hear this.

You can't compare the things that happened to you to the things that happened to someone else. There's no better or worse. Just different. It can't be compared. This happened to you. This hurt you.
What happened to others shouldn't matter. You shouldn't and can't compare it. Because you're you and they're them.

Oh, and another thing: it wasn't your fault.
No way, no how.
Not your fault.

You know how dangerous this is

But you can't put the fire out.
It's far too beautiful to let it die anyway.
So it will burn until you start to doubt.
The flames are growing and it's killing you not knowing.
And the flames may flicker
But your heartbeat just gets quicker.
So now it's oxygen or water.
But you're feeding on this feeling
And thriving on the danger.
Oxygen or water?
You'd rather not know which.