Quiet hours

Quiet hours Rain drips down buildings. Droplets hang on the windows. Soft light illuminating rooms. Still dark corners left unnoticed. Voices left unheard. The breath that fills the entirety of the body. As lightning cries through the dark sky. The body takes those breaths, in and out, with a cold lump in the throat. The mind begins to decay. Lights quiet down. Thunder shouts. The body falls with the rain in these quiet hours. The relief of breathing becomes a violent sense of suffocation. In these quiet hours. Left alone in the quiet house. Surrounded by the waves of the comforting storm. These final quiet hours Final quiet breath. The body is consumed.