February

If January had shattered me like glass

February was the shards that were left upon the floor

we were short, and sharp, and dangerous

leaving scars upon both of our hearts

broken broken broken

and there was no winner in our desperate grasp for freedom

shadowed by the force in which we crashed to the ground

You were red- a cherry, burning red

and I was blue- ice cold, leaching color

and together all we were was

broken broken broken

pieces of shatter glass upon the floor