My dear, wash away with the rain.

I guess my mind is a little messed up.

When I tell you to wash away with the rain,
It's only because I'm trying to find the storm before it hits,
And it will hit.
When I rip my own aching heart out,
It's only to have some sort of grip to hold so I don't fall face down.
Even though I will.
When my body shakes all over and shattered teeth lay upon my upright face,
It's only to tell me how hearts work in their own way,
On their own time,
And to their own levels.
It doesn't matter how hard I try to keep my grip,
Or how much I bleed out while doing so,
Or even the levels I get at when I do,
All that matters is that it will be left an unsolved mystery.
Because the grip you have to hold, will not be held forever.
Eventually, you'll just, Let go.
And then what happens?
You fall.