The Passage for Clouds

Not good today
clouds are talking
and they mean business
My soul is the conduit
the passage for clouds
a storm front, a cage
a silent scream
I am frightened, lost
alone
running circles
on the rat's wheel
spinning blindly
out of control

I dislike sharp angles
and irony after midnight
False smiles I do not trust
nor the colour of gun metal
and wide open spaces
I must be small
inconspicuous, hidden
within the fabric
of shadows

No time left, my thoughts
are trouble: a dark rage
I am not me today, only
misinterpretation, nothing
but self infliction
My blood flows backwards
in defiance, my heart turns
rebelliously black
I will not submit, I will not
succumb. I am the answer
I am the razor, I am
the wrist