July stormy

A thunderstorm is coming, clouds are hanging,
the peals of thunder cut the ear,
as if they were shooting from all the guns
at me with precision: boom, boom.

And the rain washes away everything that was,
that lingered, out of place,
that was spinning in my head,
and with this thought, I was glad.

Now, everything has changed,
the thunderstorm has cleared my brain,
and the World has become vulgar, primitive.
And it couldnt be any other way!?