Bloody bloody rain, lay your hands all over me, molesting and grabbing me in every way. Comfortably, I lay canopied in a myriad of flowers upon my grave. The pleasant petrichor of the midday rain not reaching my senses, depraved. As I lay colder than the rain filtering into the humid ground. My tears of blood are wiped away by the coming of the sun shining it’s light upon the budding lilies of may.