February

The soil is still frosted.

It was the winter nobody wanted.

Demons are deceitful.

A love affair with a needle, the world said was freedom.

And the people closest to me believed that I was evil.

The Cherry Blossoms cautioned against the most auspicious malestroms.

Who would be the winner?

This most underappreciated winter.

Pessimists thrive in disappointment and pallor.

Shadowed a color the same pigment as valor.

Where does it begin.

Where does it start.

I wish winter would forget its measured icy pleasure.

And leave matters scattered to pitter patter of hearts.