Come rain or come shine

I don’t want the pain to end, for its end means the end of me, the end of life itself, the end of living. I’m writing, but everything has a double meaning. Language cannot describe feelings, no matter which way an author organizes a sentence, or picks a specific word. We are limited, left to feel isolated within our singular locked, bolted, feeling cages.
The rain fell down in the way of ceaseless war. Bullet after bullet pelted the unarmored. And as it ricocheted down from the gray, shielded tides suspended above our heads, we felt nothing. We let the tears, unspoken words, forgotten battle cries splash against our skin, and run like rivers to our parched souls.  Under the canopy of storms, we felt nothing. Numb beneath the blanket of bullets and rain, we raised our final battle cry and took off with the wind that shattered our bones and breathed life into our parched, soaked soul. The rain fell down in the way of shattered souls. And bullet after bullet pelted the unarmored, numb and cold.
Alive. Alive. Alive.