Necromancer sprite of spring pulling life out of forgotten graves is there still a garden inside me? I can't remember what grew there It's never easy getting up again after months spent underground the soil lies heavy on tired eyelids the ache of empty veins refilled Growing tired of endless cycles water wheel curse in the river of time caught in constant non-consensual motion wringing out energy with drops of blood
Final crisp air of the last days of winter fragile, foolish hopes glisten with the frost my life is cracking open to reveal a new season finding shelter from sunlight in the cool moss It's hard to keep turning pages when the book seems halfway finished making paper cranes with yellowed edges translating words that weren't written in english Skittish tip-toe steps towards the sunrise unsure sounds of someone else, footsteps at my side breathe me in deeply with the humid air of summer protective ribcage sanctuary, by your heart I will reside
Spring is coming, just hold on I've been telling myself since October It's hard to have faith the sun will heal wounds that reopen every winter Half a year spent holding my breath how much happiness can be contained in only three short months of light most slips by as I'm fearing the next fall Spring is coming, but I don't remember what it is I've been waiting for all winter just a phantom feeling of something better Spring is coming, just hold on
I'm making everyone worry again morose reiterations of reoccurring thoughts that rend trying to explain the weight of what I'm feeling tongue-tied frustration of finding the words that would heal me People are pleading with me to go to therapy again the retched realization that I've caused fear I can't mend my grandma's sweet offer, she's telling me she'd pay sudden recoil, sinking heart, I've said the words I shouldn't say I'm hurting the people I love again allowing personal pain to pull down a friend spinning cyanide webs of sinister predictions poisoning the future with feverish convictions I'm having those scary thoughts again the ones where I savor this story's end whispered suggestions from seductive self-harm running my fingers over those old marks on my arm...
It's not fair I can't fall asleep with the trees every winter and only rise again when the distant sun returns being left abandoned in this windswept landscape is too much agony to endure year after year Left to live as a corpse in this cold darkness denied the sweet slumber offered to half of nature unable to escape into an expanded unconsciousness until I am awaked by the scent of spring flowers Half my life is wasted waiting for the thaw huddled into myself for safety and warmth where the beauty of the silent snow cannot creep into my veins Patience is a virtue I have not been artful in the ticking clock torments me and tears me down telling me I must rise and not let time slip by while my delicate soul continues to shiver
January punishes with pale grey glances punctuated by ragged breaths of sharp wind the air is empty of all familiar affection no more lingering, soft caresses from the sun The candles have all been extinguished on hearths and families that had gathered for feasting seem to have long since dispersed and dissolved back into this new year of silent, bleak darkness Expected to set goals while my soul is frozen over exhausted by the pitiful effort of just trying to get by themes of death thud against the weather worn door while paper crane wishes are swallowed up in icy oblivion Winter is a season where time stands still and all perspective on life is lost within waiting and the halfhearted insistence I'll feel good again in spring promise me this practice of painful patience will pay off
The new year emerges under ice and snow the shivering beauty of fresh starts are still tangled with somber shadows The new year reminds us that beginnings and endings are both as sharp as the cutting winter wind amid this season of death, space is made for the spring The new year slips silently past the white horizon bringing the bright, painful light of sober morning to aching heads and rooms littered with good time debris The new year offers a choice to change the opportunity to bravely face another blank slate a promise we can make ourselves to keep moving forward
Soft warm light suspended in the brutal vacuum of snow one final day of indulgence before the empty months commence January is the longest part of the year a vicious nod to immaterial time that contracts and expands as it pleases to trap us in the cold violence of winter The sunshine tide will slowly ascend further up the shores of frozen evenings to melt the aching numbness of vitamin D and dopamine withdrawal But even the faithful repetition of 29 years cannot convince me that the trauma of winter will give way to green abundance once again and melt this ice inside my veins Waiting in this black and white is a reminder that I still haven't found the patience I was promised would come with age just more pain piled on with yearly practice
Cotton candy sunrise ascending over frost covered hills commands the soul to stop and take notice with silent reverence Cold light magnified through icicle laden limbs of trees is obscured behind private clouds created by every exhale Pristine beauty pervades the stillness of the snowy winter months stirring up a pious inner hope that death will somehow seem as lovely
Certain seasons of life pass by in a painful haze of indifference all appetite for living has been lost a shade of sadness that turns the stomach and leaves you without even a taste for longing Sifting through the sterile earth the ashen grey dust of memory searching for even an aftertaste of delight hope can only sprout in the fertile soil of a desire for better things to come When even yearning has gone sour this prison of depression is complete the gaping maw of all consuming despair swallows up past, present, and future alike into the black hole vacuum of its belly Not even light can escape this sunken place inside a yearly ritual of falling head first into the black and white chasm of winter exhausted limbs clinging to a foggy faith in the coming spring
Protect the Innocent 