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Oh, The Rain



Estimated reading time — < 1 minute

Like snakes slithering, intertwined,
So are the constructs of my mind.
I wonder if ’twas by Divine design,
Or just the passage of Earth’s cruel time.

No matter the case, I must digress,
For I cannot think under such duress,
Nor contemplate mine own egress,
Into this dark pit of emptiness.

With so much stress and so much strain,
Whittling away at my wretched brain,
I wonder, will I be driven insane,
Left as a madman to laugh at the rain.

In my case, I must say I do believe,
That madness, to me, would be reprieve,
I would no longer need to grieve,
Over what i have failed to achieve.

Or mourn the loss of innocence,
In each and every happenstance,
No matter what the circumstance,
I detest this grim and loathsome dance.

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If only life were not so dastardly,
In its dizzying attempts at mastery,
Perhaps there would not be such casualties,
Or such deviation from old formalities.

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There’s naught I can do about this pain,
Save my writing in this refrain,
To spread worldwide the deep disdain,
Of this old madman, laughing at the rain.

Credit To: J. Brown

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15 thoughts on “Oh, The Rain”

  1. Not creepy whatsoever. I might have enjoyed it more if I wasn’t expecting a scare. It’s like walking in a theater to see a good comedy only to find a good drama. It’s good, though.

  2. Roses are red, violets are blue. I took my time to read this, now I have to go pee. Does rhyme? Too bad, haha. Kidding. But really. Nice poem.

  3. It all started on a regular Friday evening. I was reading Creepy Pastas, and all of a sudden my routine was disrupted when I stumbled upon the most horrendous sight. Horrified that I might have accidentally clicked on an advertisement for Crappy Pasta, my eyes darted towards the URL. Realizing I was in fact on the right site, I dismissed the occurrence as being the result of Derpbutt’s hangover.
    A couple weeks later, however, it happened again. Increasingly, my eyes frequented these awful spectacles. I just thought maybe Derp was on a bender, what with school starting back up.
    But now, it has come to a point where it is almost daily that my eyes are harassed. My withered heart cannot take it anymore. It needs the excitement of actual >creepy< pastas. Without the proper nourishment that only these pastas may provide, I'm afraid my heart will ultimately fail. It will be at this point that I'll have to pull a "friend posts for me, announcing my death" card.
    Now I will leave, choking (i.e., typing) out my last words…I'm begging anyone…the poets themselves…Derpbutt's overly-approving thumb…to just stop…Please….

    By the way, nice poem!

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