It’s a cold, windy December
and my lips start to quiver—
leaving my heart yearning,
losing my entire being;
then my body begins to shiver,
exhausted from this yearly fever.
With broken hopes and dreams
and regrets of what it seems
are pent up thoughts of the year
as I reminisce my fears.
The last thing I could do
is start fresh and anew;
when the winter ends perhaps—
spring would bring better luck.
But until it comes I stay the same,
optimism the last thing in my brain;
as my soul dies over and over
like bitter ashes of a burning ember,
I try my best to feel better
in a cold, windy December.
-fin-
featured image: Wallpaper Cave
Pessimistic Reveries 