i feel sort of like a rain cloud. a dark, nasty rain cloud that whips the hair back with wind and stings the eyes with water.
and emily is a quiet, peaceful village. or was, before being besieged by the extremes of my temperament. now the peace is gone, the villagers have locked themselves inside, and the crops are dying.
and oh, how i wish i wasn’t a storm. but however much i wish i wasn’t, i’m full of blinding lightning and cracking thunder. powerful in wrath, and weak and sick of it. arrogance is anvil heads towering miles high, and the higher they go, the lower my soul lies.
driven by a vacuum, a huge low-pressure area: an unexplainable lack that twists and claws the ground.
i wish i wasn’t all these things, but like a storm it feels like i have no control over my nature. i’m stuck as i am until something more powerful comes along and assimilates or dissipates me.
it might be cool to be a storm over the painted desert, but it is sad to be a storm over a quiet, peaceful little village. and right now, that’s what i am.
—
on spin: “hallelujah” | jason killingsworth
