I once had a heart
I thought
But I don’t know anymore
It’s feeling kind of dead and rotten
And the smell, well...
It smells a lot like lonesome.

On this day,
of 35 years.
Humbled by,
the cycle of death.
I place my foot,
on sodden wood.
Embracing,
the November wind.
It's cruel and nips,
at my blue fingertips.
There is something,
new and also blue.
That pushed me out,
into the deep cold sleep.

Your eyes.