When the storm inside me boils up,
When I can't hold it any longer,
I spill myself into this page,
Wishing I were only just stronger.

My heart, my thoughts, my demons,
They rage out in great torrents.
Flooding the empty white page,
Filling it with shifty currents.

Eventually I am exhausted,
My turmoil set out before me.
A sultry mix of a thousand doubts,
A million views past what I see.

Round and round and round,
Beginning to circle the drain.
My aching passion pounded and flushed,
A temporary fix for all my pain.

The self pity slides away,
Along with all the hate.
The doubts last to exit,
As the storm finally abates.

Again, I know it will boil up,
It never seems to end.
But at least I now feel at peace,
Though false, I try to pretend.

This is my greatest secret,
The furious passion and pain I hide.
None but those who have seen my storm,
Have any idea what I hide inside.