Rachel Mac

The constant patter of the rain,
Just assists the throbbing pain,
Inside my brain, inside my head,
That makes me think I'd be better off dead.

Down a wall, trickles a drop,
Causing my burning tears to stop,
Their long, sad path down my face,
While I sink into my dark place.

I tilt my face up to the cloud,
That produces the rain that patters loud.