January's Blue

January 17, 2015

 

 

The bruised skies
And wistful wind
Scratch my eyes,
Itching red.

 

I hug the blanket
To my tugging chest
As thoughts abound
My throbbing head.

 

My forehead sore,
My mind less pure
As home was lost
Through musguided lure.

 

The difference between
Me and my lure
Is I can do better,
She only worse.

 

And then I rise
And face the world
As growing light
Reveals them all.

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