• Clouds are marching in up above my head.
    The scent of rain becomes stronger.
    I look up, searching for a ray of light.
    I only see the dark clouds.
    I toss my hood over my head
    as a shout of thunder rings in my ears.
    I her the clapping of rain as it bombards the pavement.
    It's raining on my neon life.
    Raining on the colours - on the joys.
    As I walk home in the rain
    I see the neon colours drain.
    There's a trail of lively colours behind me.
    Like Crayola's washable markers
    the joys and smiles rinse out in the rain.
    All I see is black and white
    and the neon stripe behind me.
    I walk through a familiar intersection
    and stop on the corner
    of Oak Park and Chicago. And think.
    As soon as my neon life was completely gone
    I realized home was just like the rain.
    I looked at my hands
    and they're still colourless.
    I keep staring hoping the colour will rush back
    like a fire set ablaze.
    A blue colour trickles down my nose and splashes on my hand.
    More blue falls from my nose onto my clothing....
    ... My tears are blue.
    They taunt me.
    The only colour in this storm is the colour of tears.
    I can't hide them.
    Can't stop them.
    I sit on the curb of Chicago, head in hands.
    My hands quickly become drenched in blue.
    Tears keep coming
    and there seems no end.
    How am I supposed to stop the rain?
    All I want is for my neon life to return,
    but it's been washed
    away.
    How do I get it back?
    Where am I supposed to go?