Storms are inside,
they come and go.
Leave me alone
But no, again
each time they come.
I feel helpless.

Tears sometimes pour,
sometimes drizzle,
flowing slowly
to a near stop.
Not fully, but
never-ending.

Just waiting, still,
to flow again
when time is right.
Not right for me,
never for me.
Only for them.

For their release.
They who hunt me,
never let go.
They bring the storms
with their salt tears.
I'm powerless.

No calming down,
not completely.
I wish I could,
but I cannot.
They won't let me.
Always present.

In the back of
my numb, tired mind,
the emotions
keep me on edge.
Leave me alone
but, no, they won't.

Do you even know what you're doing to me?
No, you're probably too blind to see...
This is something hard to notice, I know,
so why does it still surprise me so?

I know almost no one'll love me for who I am,
just like there's no one who'll ever like spam.
Not often is someone admitted into my heart,
which is made of shards of glass.
So tender, almost falling apart.

Imagination,

without it, the world would be
nothing but empty.

I believe that in Spring
the morning air tastes
like sweet honey.
Why else would all babies
be born in this season,
if not for the nutritious air?

The mystery of life leaves me to ponder how
something so exquisite, per chance, exists
and how it out of such exquisiteness consists.
To Mother Nature I sincerely bow,
oh, how I admire her logic and her twists.

His voice is like no relaxation
that I ever experienced before.
Just a few syllables and...
****! I'm already gone.