A heavy mist, a cruel, indifferent cloud
That chases off the tranquil air of peace
And chokes the sun of joy in darkened shroud.
A sickly heart summons this vapor swell
If suffering from a crack or missing piece,
By aching wounds confined to its own Hell.
Such misery I know extremely well.

A rosewater and sugar flavored dream
That stokes a burning star within the heart
And fills the eyes with galaxies a'gleam.
Fantastic hopes rekindled from the dead
Of happy endings no poor odds can thwart
Race through a mind lying awake in bed.
Many a fantasy has filled my head.

I don't write when iam happy
Joy makes me dance,not think
It fills my hands with flowers
Not pens.

But sadness?
She sits me down,
Open my chest,
And spills the ink.