The fickleness of New Jersey weather seemed appropriate for once, I thought as i ambled through an abandoned street. I trembled as the cold droplets of water arrayed my skin, which shone a different kind of light today - A dark light. The rain started to stab me harder, and I intently observed my surroundings. Has rain always made the world look so bland, as if there was a transparent sheet of tungsten that devoured the earth? And if so, Why haven't i ever noticed it before? Maybe if I had known that the path I'd chosen would lead me to the slaughterhouse, rather than what i hoped to be "destination dreamland" I would've inhaled all that was viewed small, and unimportant.
The gushing of warm tears felt oddly comforting as it fought off the icy sting the cruel droplets left behind. It's so hard to believe that there once was a time when the cold was not my foe, but a friend. A friend that had injected deception into the vein that connected us for so long. My dim imagination suddenly bro