It's been getting warmer again lately
even though the daylight hours are shrinking and the nights dip cooler like a thinly veiled warning
from the planet that its end is getting closer.

I keep longing for last January when the new year ate my pain with cold mornings ; quieter days when deliberate silence turned into forgetting how to start a conversation in the first place.
At least I was doing things for me back then.

The last six months it seems like I haven't done anything.
I can't remember why I do anything anyway.
There's no motivation to keep on and purpose is not a thing that exists within me.
I am just tired of being, of getting warmer.

The world is ending,
literally shaking itself apart because nobody listens to warning signs until it's too late to do anything.
I'm not trying to say that my importance is the same because the apocalypse will **** everything and any loss I leave behind is so small looking at it that way —
but I am still shaking myself apart and nobody has been listening to the warning signs.

I have not been quiet about them.
There is no thin veil for a hurricane ;
no way not to see a whole city aflame.

The storms are getting stronger.
Houses were not built for homes.
The nights are cold and the days are getting warmer.