I tell you that there are huge storms inside of me
and you always take out your umbrella like you're waiting for it to pass by.
The hurricanes are ripping through the feelings I have for you,
and the wind is making me deaf to your "sweet" words;
but still, under your ignorant shelter you sit.

I worry that you've come here only for vacation,
that the sunshine on the brochure that is me in public
has convinced you that you've found a great, temporary, place to lay.
But really, my waves will leave you drowning
and my mind will have you lost in a stranded place.
My hands will cause destruction,
and the earthquake I call my heart will shake your stable ground.

I worry that you lay on the beach of my calamity
but ignore my roaring waves.
I worry that you will soak up all of my sun,
and leave me shivering my my rain.

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