The states of the mind are as unstable as the English weather, from the bitter winter of a harsh depression to the scorching heat wave of a manic front that precedes the wild storms of wrath and vengeance, with force enough to tear into the very fabric of the soul. What lies beneath these states of fanatical climate that possess my psyche with an unmatched volatility, the essence of all that fuels the causational systems in constant flux, something more dangerous than any threatening tempest and always menacingly lingering just beyond the horizon.
A cold front of resentment forcing the mild breeze to plummet into sub-zero temperatures that chill the very frost itself, ice becoming a diamond like form to reflect back upon the fractured landscape every critical aspect of destructive nature it seeks to escalate to heights of irrational measure. Those storms just a beat of a cold dead heart away from breaking the ferocious heat of manic fury, such energy engulfing the slightest imperfection into raging blizzards of frenzied commotion.
The only thing to match the chaos of commotion is the divisive corruption of that engulfing energy into a crueller wrath, vengeance possessing the fractured landscape with unkempt anger to burn even the lava of the volcanic rage that spreads though every tributary of the once pure river of sanity.
At last the seasons settle, storm torn chaos breaking against all that withstood as the surviving aspects of the mind are infused with the remnants of frenzied commotion, fortified with jagged walls of diamond like remains of the bitter winter of a harsh depression. The rest that lies scattered with callous disregard irradiates with perpetual suffering that such a destructive nature has infused into every piece of wreckage, even less caring is the dark core of logic which seeks to rebuild stronger that which is derelict.
As in this calm before the tempest the repeating cycle is merely postponed by the deafening beat of a cold black heart whose idea of mourning is to others a horrifying mix of gravity defying repression, blissfully over writing the best forgotten sins of seasons past. The art of repression just another cog in the merciless machine of human nature that will beckon forth with little repent the fanatical seasons that will lead to the next event.