The desert is jealous of the clouds.
Lonely below their shadow it awaits
its one true love - the rain.
It thirsts for its presence,
Oh how graced I must be to walk the hallowed halls
of that thing you call a heart.
A cold draft follows me out, for even the air is stale
and needs an escape.
I gazed into Melancholy's mirror
And found the more I reflected on it,
The more it reflected on me
Providing a perfect symmetry
Still, are you here?
Still, it is I.
Still, you have found me.
Shrouded with the weight of your presence,
It rose, separating itself from the world it resented,
The heat of anger filling its puffy cheeks.
It was downcast and carried a shadow wherever it went,