Dear October, I write to you by the window

with the most heartfelt apology

You see most months I’ve held a spade to the ground

and dug a hole under me

I am bare beneath the surface

So I placed the world above me

A weight to stoop me lower

So I would have none to carry


The window sweats of dew now

As if to show me through its tears

Through paper thing cracks upon its crystal skin

A broken pane reflected through the years


I hung myself from a noose

Drilled a two inch nail to the wall

and secured a stool beneath my feet

so I wouldn’t ever have to fall


Time has been kind

The kind handicapped by one less a hand

so it moves in complete circles

While the other never moves from its stand


I have burned bridges to ash

Now I carry around an urn

I mourn to the point of exhaustion

If only I knew to let go, If only I could learn


Maybe this month wont bring reasons to bury

the remnants of who I am or used to be

Maybe it’s time to hold a pen instead a spade

Dear October, be good to me



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