Many poems I read seem so sad
The poems fills your eyes with tears
This doesn't mean the poems are bad
But sometimes a poem should be filled with cheer

There is so much beauty to write about
Not just lost love, fears, screams and shouts

A poem can be about
Flowers or trees
A poem can be about
Crystal blue seas

A poem can be about
a ring of smoke
Or a beautiful girl
Or about the beauty
We find in this world

I would take
Your pain
And make it
My own

I wonder if like a storm you are
unaware of the damage you inflict.
Flooding these walls with screams,
shattering the fragility of our home.

I assume you are too caught up
within your own struggles to break free.
The wrath of your thoughts and those
calculating fingers rake your flesh.

Etching violent artistry's to your soulless
voids. Little needles which pin-***** at
the dark corners of your mind; awakening
the dormant cruelty sheltered within.

It is only through the cusp of night that
apologies emerge as you feign delicacy.
Your liquid skies fade to hellish hues as
you tell me not to lust after hurricanes.