Winter Nothings

How can one, truly state, that neither option will provide, the love and laughter, and elusive comfort that somehow lie inside. Of broken heart, and trodden spirit, when one can feel the cold is damper, and yet instead, stares to moon, each night before the mind can stammer. The broken thoughts, it's held all day, waiting for your evening query, and instead is forced inside, as you muster up, your winter dreary. And now a change, has brought new life, in a quite, literal sense, yet here you lay, apathetic, as you build a bigger fence. To bind those feelings, oh so honest, as the lies cement your empty blocks, and force you even, deeper within, what made you think all hope was lost. Truly sad, is a man, who possesses, but denies, his soul, for the sake, of cleanliness, and complete lack of control. And as I lay in wake each night, and take sweet breaths of shallow air, I often dare, to ask myself, if this had not happened, would I care? Would I have led, the path desired, or simply folded to least resistance, could I have taken, the higher, beaten path, or swallow that persistence. That forces self-improvement, and discourages dependencies, the voice inside, that can provide, answers to all my inefficiencies. And finally, the curtain draws, as all patrons exit to the east, and all the demons, of my past fears, are hereby invited to the feast. Of cowardice and shame, and hateful self-reproach, Of fear so deep and so sincere, I'm unable to approach, A solution that can bear, me with the fruits that I desire, And take this tired, textbook life, and allow me to expire.