Pathetic
But my tears are mirrored by the rain,
Lashing me...lashing myself...
Pathetic
But the howling wind is my voice
I feel it in my throat,
Reaching up into my head,
Tearing carefully nurtured calm out by the roots,
Stealing my screams.
Pathetic
But these January gales exactly match my mood,
And somehow comfort, with discomfort.
I'm in the right place
Weathering the storm,
Wearing Winter's face.