He held up an umbrella,
while the winds howled her name.
Whispers at the corner of his lobes,
sinked him further into its circular shape.
Her silhouette mirages beneath the stairs,
his imagination strikes down like lightning,
breaking everything in sight.
He stood under his umbrella safe and dry,
while the rains poured,
and heavens broke down and cried on his behalf.
His love was made of mistakes,
his love was made to be a crime,
they forced him to wash his hands after he touched her,
threatened him with fear of divine.
He was a sorry umbrella cold as the wet night,
tired of being tossed around by the harsh winds.
Wind rushed, trees swayed, recklessness filled the air,
he lifted himself thirty feet off the ground,
the bridge tried to cling onto to him,
but he let go.
Alone floated the umbrella on the wild waters.