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solaciolum: King of Night Vision, King of Insight (Default)
Time Traveler Extraordinaire

November 2014

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Wednesday, February 2nd, 2011 11:19 pm
Sometimes the only appropriate way to express myself is through pretentious iambic pentameter. And so:


The smell of February clings to me,
a thick and cloying, choking stench that curdles
in the lungs, sticks to hair and skin--
until you cough it up in rasping gasps,
while runny noses bleed it out in long
and ropey strands of misery and disgust.
It has a bitter taste that lingers on,
like grimy, left-behind December snow.

The numbing cold can make it bearable
but only just-- the sky hangs brittle in
the icy atmosphere, fracturing
beneath the dismal weight of February.

The tangled footprints in the slush all seem
to ask, what makes the shortest month so long?--
bad luck, or just bad breeding? Overlooked
within the shadows of the proper months,
this stunted, strange, unwanted child still grasps
at love, but catches only raw distaste.
Even as March shoulders it aside,
this flavor-- February-- will survive.
--

This is from a million years ago- 2005, I think- although it's been polished and prodded extensively since then. It could still use some work (what can't, really?), but it has moments in it that I enjoy. And it is always appropriate, because fuck February, this is the worst month. Also I am dying of the Dripping Misery and General Malaise, aka the generic deathvirus. Spent the day in bed, skipping what classes weren't canceled due to the horrendous ice storm.

Still feeling awful. Tomorrow is my eleven hour day, too, so we'll see if I actually make it through or if I collapse face first in a puddle at a bus stop. Basically, this week has been made of UUUUGGGGGHHHHHHHH and I am tired of it. *expires*

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