the weather forecast
can't predict when the
rain in my eyes
will break through its barriers
and pour down my cheeks|
in a downpour.

they can't predict
when the storm in my heart
will finally brew
and destroy the last of it

and they certainly can't predict
when the cyclone in my
clogged brain
will arrive

and drown my broken

pieces,
until there's nothing
l e f t

- written on a sticky note and stuck on the hood of a car by Melanie