The sun is shining in
uncharacteristically abundant for January
a normally welcome boon
in a generally loveless month
This light this day imparts sadness to me
I weight my vital essence
against the shimmering insolidity
of my reflection in the window
it is hard to gauge which is more
dirty, sun streaked, and wane
I tremble at the thought of death
compelled by yearning not fear
and a pulsing ignoble pathos
and me weakness drains the warmth
from that January sun I steal
with my weak little baby heart
I miss the past where I was glorious
I hate this future of stilled vigor
where I am feebly entombed in crepe and time
I love the elements of water and earth
but I am a lava field not a mountain peak
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