The rain falls and it sounds like bullet casings;

The rain falls and it sounds like home. 

The thunder comes and I am hiding, 

Under a table, away from you.

From your thunder-clap hands,

From your lightning-strike hands,

And I have nothing to protect me

From me or you.

The rain gets heavier and

I wonder if it can drown out this silence.

The thunder gets louder in anticipation 

Of the next lightning strike.

You get louder in anticipation 

Of your next lighting strike,

And I have nothing to protect me

From me or you.

From me, you have taken everything.

And the rain is watering the plants

like my tears water this page.

I get louder and call this a protest,

When my voice cracks like thunder,

I am anticipating my next lightning strike.

And I will not hide from my own fire,

So when I emerge from under this table,

Expect a storm.