I had a thought after my dad passed away that I feel like winter. Winter, scenes of cold, scenes of bitterness, scenes of what was, covered in anger and suffocating that which was sown; those thoughts permeated my very existence.
I was done so many times, but they were lies. All lies.
And then I feel like I’m just a fucking lie. All I was. So I start again. And it’s tough. I start where I was, I take 3 steps forward then fall back. Back. Back. Fall back. It’s all right. There’s no use in pretending. My eyes give me away.
Oh, but, oh, it’s done. And then winter comes. It comes like a mistress hell bent on fucking your waking reality. It comes like a damned demon draining you, sapping you. It comes on and it’s a bitch.
And then I …
And then I…
and then I whisper, quietly, to the cold winter air, that it has me.