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Nov 2016
November days sees me pummelled,
bashed and clubbed to a pulp.
Buried then exhumed...
Skin and bones,
hair and scalp.

Dusks watch me stretch,
warp and break.
Bitten, chewed and spat out.
So that I could come together...
So I could nurse
the same old doubt.

Nights abrade,
as they span for hours.
They sap, they wear.
They mock and they jeer.
There is bittersweetness in the solitude
where coherence of mind
is scarce and rare.

Dawns greet with tiptoeing feet.
Cradle my body where it had lain.
They resuscitate me. Fill me up.
They ward off nightly deaths
so I am reborn,
again and again...

I loathe November.
Written by
ryn  πŸ‡ΈπŸ‡¬
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