I want to get lost in the way
that birds sing to their brethren,
warning with warbling melancholy.
I want to lose my thoughts
In the understanding of the moon,
when it comforts my screaming soul
and it tucks me in,
with the covers up to my chin.
I want solace in my mind
where acid feelings eat way the tissue,
and leave holes of yesterday's sorrow.
Mother Nature yearns for my acceptance,
but I am already knee deep in my own poison ivy regrets,
and two feet of sticky snow is already making its way into my lungs.
These band aids do not fix
my body's bleeding ruins,
They only hold back
a quivering massacre of emotions.
