Mental Storms

Fog tendrils wrap and lock

Twisting round wrists and ankles

Shackles of mental storms

Eyes dried of emotions

Filled with dust of the past

Squinting,straining,searching

Teardrops of hope

Momentarily loosening locks

Just enough space to reach

Reach up and out

Jolts of pain reawaken desire

Desire to find a bud on a branch

Puddles of blood and teardrops mix

Leaving scars as roadmaps

Shackles dissipate momentarily

Dispelling in clarity of future

Waiting for the next chill

Fog and their friends return.

They always do

They are the mental storm