Photo by Sourav Mishra

Raindrops like icy menthol pelt my face
I breathe the lightning — and wait for thunder
Stretch out my stomach and make a drum out of me
I want to be thunder, I want to be music.
Raindrops like ice shake the roof
Each breath is a spike in my back
One more rusted nail in the box I am building;
a soundproofed coffin to sing in.