Depression is like a pirate ship lost at sea crashed against the sharp rocks by the catastrophic waves of thought.

Eyesight dulled by the storm ahead, thunder and lighting dance one graceful plea after another.

Having a lost soul isn’t as much of a ship as it is more like a game of hide-and-seek. No one is looking, so you can not be found.

Her heart radiating darkness becoming more enclosed her voice trapped banging against the inside of her skull searching for a sliver to wisp out of like ghosts of smoke.

But the envious lily of dreams will wilt when the beauty of a red rose is near eating up all the sun leaving none for others orange lily alone under white clouds, causing her to write poems filling them with black poisonous toxin making the rain acidic suffocating making her not able to predict the actions of tomorrow.

Her ship sailing away in the orange glow of sunset floating on garbage as it sticks out its tongue leaving another white cloud soon to be black.