The Winter Ends

Well lately I've been waking up

to dark skies and numb toes

and I haven't been finding the energy

to get out of bed,

it's like my blanket can protect me

from the prospects of real life.

The frost has been set for far too long

and as much as I find awe

in the scenes it creates,

the implications are becoming tiresome

and the novelty of beauty

wears off faster than the snow could melt.

I can't continue to stay home

with the upstairs light on

like that album cover

which I have worn out over winter months,

and although it speaks to me

it's all hitting a bit too close to reality.

I can't continue to be fuelled

by coffee and catharsis,

like I'm waiting out

for this bitter shift to end,

it's gotten to the point where I'm dependent

and in turn that makes me loathe myself.

I can't continue to write

about ideals and ambitions

which will never come into fruition

as much as people insist otherwise.

I can't continue to wait

to see what happens

when the winter ends.