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Life, to me, is like a long-lasting storm.
Birth was the quick and anxious quiet before it,
Then life turned into turmoil.
The storm hopped around like a tornado,
Touching down every second, minute, hour, day, week, month, year, even decade.
Happy days existed but never last for long.
The storm soon engulfed them, taking their beauty,
Crupting them and turing them into poison, a sweet, bitter poison.
You crave for it more and more and go into withdrawl when you don't get it.
The storm is preventing you from getting your drug.
Your existance is now the storm.
Without you, the storm wouldn't be as powerful.
It saps your strength; your reason for life.
It reflects your emotions, cries when you cry; yells when you yell.
Is dead silent when you are numb. You are the storm.
Then death occurs.
Death is the ominous silence after the storm.
You think it is over but it comes back to cause more devastation.
You can never escape your storm. It will never cease to be you.
Live your storm to the last second. Live it how you want it.
Don't let it be you. You control this complex storm.