you promise a new year,
but it's more of the same old shit.
turmoil in the static.
you're not fulfilling my needs
and you know how i thrive on
so go fuck yourself, January,
or else find me a way to deal with
the sudden burst of nothingness you've handed me.
for you found me at a difficult time,
but for once it's not the fault of
a man or
a friend-in-passing or
some other convenient betrayal.
it's only me,
all my doing
but it's been going on like this
so you can see how i was anticipating you
to somehow rescue me from this
ready-to-expire horror story
i'm sad to say
you couldn't offer me anything more
than high hopes abandoned on window sills
by one who was too afraid to jump
the January thrill of snow and speed
were lures into a game called life
that i'm not sure i'm ready to be a part of yet,
so forgive me if i'm not
about my current situation.
for we both know i've never been the type
to be tied down
least of all
what's expected of me.
my alter ago,
the side of me no one sees,
is way ahead of its time
with things you could never provide for me,
you toyed with me and now
i'm over it
and i'm over you
and the thirty-one days of
so you'll again forgive me
for not mincing my words.
i'll move on to the next
who promises some kind of salute to love
and perhaps i'll find something
or something that will make me feel
so long, January,
you mother fucker.
you'd better bring it.