Coming storm, I am! Drifting, distant, dampness of rain from afar soddens your lips.    Closer, the storm carries in gentle arms of swift winds, each drop of tear-showers. 

Still anchor, sunk, in tear rippled sea. 

darkness dwells inside anger tremblesa lull in my speech means I am thinkingdevouring the light which shinesshrinking psychedelic thinkingstrobes of misery spinmy thoughts expandwith ideas of hurt to recallmy mind looks at the worldgood with fangs and clawsthe dark...

A flower of imperfection, I am, waning with the passing seasons.  Springtime flowers budding to summertime flowering.  this fall time senescence  to wintertime death.  Black flower of psychosis, withering in bloom and beauty withering.  The season of fresh hallucinations  is indeed upon me!