The Storm

As things get messier
A turbulence ensues
That sweeps the lining
Right off the bed cover

Leaving everything under
Exposed with a stench
A sight so gruesome
Even the Joker looks away;

There is no order
Underneath this disorder
Only chaos beneath
An unlikely cover;

Smile at me for awhile
As I clean up the mess
Or salvage whatever
If there is anything left;

Maybe the storm hasn’t started
Perhaps there is hope as yet.

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