the bad cloud

ever omnipresent

yet still forgotten

somehow

albeit temporarily

the dark smoke

that bubbling cloud

of ignored doubts

and layered self loathing;

the angst of a thousand

rash decisions

lay beneath 

a filigree membrane

of transient contentment.

all it takes is one barb,

one jag on the edge of

a thought, 

a dormant fear.

a 4am shark's tooth

triumphs, catches

rips an inevitable exit

black, depressive clouds escape.

internal soothings

coos to the god of positivity

fan it back inside

to be sealed with self help

stitches

yet the bruises

and the acrid aftertaste

remain. 

smell the roses, paul

smell the roses.