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Nov 2013
I've never had a fistful of love,
because my fist is too full of dirt
from digging graves.

And the greatest fist I've ever known
is the one leaving bruises all over my insides.
But that fist has graduated
and been granted tools to be used as weapons.
And my insides which were once diamonds,
are now nothing but sawdust.

And I can feel the knife.
I can always feel the knife.

And stab me just for kicks
because it tickles my fickle chest
and makes me feel like I'm living in a French city
with a quick and fickle tramway system
that can take me anywhere I want to be.

But instead I'm always going to a town
a mere hour away
and sitting in traffic
in a stuffed automobile,
wishing I was where the trains are.

Because the trains that have always sang me lullabies
whisper melodies to me all the time now,
through smoke and haze and swirling lights.

I can feel the knife.
I can always feel the knife.

Call me Miss November
because I'm the first snowfall after the best time of year,
and I cut the world with my icicle sword of a soul.

Can you feel the sword?
I hope you can always feel the sword.

And I will leave and the world will be warm and happy,
and upon my returnal,
I'll give you beautiful sweater weather
and stab you with my icicle sword when you least expect it.

I can feel the knife.
You can feel the sword.
It tickles.

Me and Miss June sing a sister song,
making harmonies with our weaponry.
My icicle sword, her scalding torch.

Just call me Miss Emmy Lou November.
I'll sing a duet with you and depart for almost forever,
and leave with my sister, Miss June.

Wake up.
It's November.
I'm here.
Wake up.
I won't be here for long.

I was born red all over.
Never knowing if I'm meant for love or anger.
But angry leaves fall in November,
getting their revenge.
But nobody listens to anger
when it's falling to the ground so gracefully.

So come to my November house jam
and we'll all be angry and loving
and cold and happy and dreading
the latter end of my company,
and I'll be wishing sister June was with me.

I'm a blackhearted lover.
I'm a blackhearted grave digger.
I'm a blackhearted skinny lover
with skinny arms that'll never be able
to cover anyone from my frigid aura.
Peyton Leigh Stille
Written by
Peyton Leigh Stille  Minneapolis
(Minneapolis)   
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