Fair weathered friends
Who need,
Who want,
Who desire,
For them, from me.
Promising later words
Of support,
Of comfort,
Of trust.
But they cannot see,
The tempest that lives
Inside my mind,
That devours,
That destroys,
That burns,
Out the worth in me.
The thoughts that darkness
Births,
Nurtures,
Embeds,
Into weeds through my sanity.
Without fear
taking hold of them.
Dispatching their loyalty into
Lies,
Wariness,
Retreat.
Thus, when the time arrives,
And peril bids me
To be protected,
To be received,
To be sheltered,
I am alone,
Drenched in misery.
This bipolar existence,
Slays happiness,
Slays love,
Slays peace.
Is this empty continuum,
All that will ever be
Left in me?
