I peer out the porthole into the chaos of the storm,
Disorder, my sole companion

Blue waves crash along the jagged rocks
sprays of melancholic gloom
the wind howls
sounding like the ghosts of past memories
decayed wooden decks rotting from
the salty air
a wailing gust originates from the rusting iron of the ships hull
a hex is placed on it’s journey as the shadowy vessel tears through
the gloomy waters of its past

The past is only a memory,
as I find myself once again in the company of madness

they asked...
"why do you write most when you're sad?"

it took me awhile to think.
but didn't answer.

I just started writing
then realized,
because no one will understand
if I tell them they would laugh

if i tell them of what I really feel,
the dreams and hopes, or of what person I've always wanted to be

they wouldn't understand
some would think it's nonsense and some will try to listen but it won't any make sense

because we are all in our own.

everyone are busy saving their own lives

and happy poems?

it's hard for me to take time and jot the fleeting feelings of how the flowers bloom in spring and how summer gives me the time to contemplate on an infinite waves

I just want to feel the moment, for myself.

Then I would feel better.

just like writing sad poems,

it would make me feel better.

You take your little lie
Dress it up in white
Clean it up a bit
Then start believing it

Would you know the truth
If the truth bit you
And would it leave a mark
Upon your hardened heart

If on it you shine a light
Does it prove to not be bright
Try and take itself aside
Bleach sharpened teeth a pearly white

Put on some darkened shades
So as not to give itself away
Hate to break it to you
But we all see that it's not true