Of rain drops and death

rain drops..... i like rain drops. They're born in the sky, their lives are consumed with the act of falling, they live to die, and place no value in their own lives. no one knows if a raindrop has dreams, nor do they really pause to ask i suppose. but rain drops, live and die, and they're silent cries are lost in the earth as they shatter and disolve. They're death brings life, and they live to die, to live again.
i like this personification too. it appeals to me. this natural death with brings renewed life, a far more appealing topic than suicide, and death of unnatural causes, but all the same, i suppose that sylvia plath is not all bad, it is an enlightening experience, and i do love english, just it is a pain in the neck to have to keep remembering horrible things about the person i used to be. i don't want to go back, but there is a constant pull at the strings which direct me. they want me back, they want me to fall again, and i desperatly don't want to go back to being that person, but at the same time, i did so love it, because the pain made it feel real, the selfishness was all that mattered, i was able to die a million times and no one would know!
in anycase i must run and hide now before the squeaky bed syndrome starts again, and i am forced to scream to myself the destruction of my sanity!