Skin gets dry in the winter, but the clouds,
whiter. Words become harder to spell because
minds get hazier. The world itself gets lazy. Human
interaction slows or just doesn’t occur.
So many eyes avoided, smiles averted.
Spring should be around
but I think it’s in a back
alley, doped up on some drug
seasons wreck their lives with.
Spring dies out and Winter has to pick
up the slack. Of course, depressed and all now
cus a fellow season is dead things get even
worse. Clouds are gone altogether.
White sky at day, black at night. And it’s always
so frigid a glance could kill.