Tired, dry, sick, and yet the snow has never stuck so wet instead, it rains or snows and melts forget the muck the pain is felt without the Winter to deflect us.
A kiss to waver all contempt away, a lovely flavour that no flower could convey. To pluck its petals, like the strumming of a lyre, a song, ephemeral but the loveliest of choirs.
In moments of drunkenness I dared to speak the truth. He's nothing more or less, not an argument or proof. He's just a black mirror inside a house of cards see nothing but my beer lost in broken shards.