Coming and going like the Winter’s dawn, all inspiration has been leeched away.
My voice has faded, cold white snow on my fingertips.
There isn’t much left to scrape off the floor, so
I guess I’ll have to start from scratch at this point.
On the bright side, I’m none of the twenty odd bugs splattered across my mother’s windshield.
Right now, the best course of action is to live each day one at a time, taking what comes your way,
Because being engulfed in your own anxiety is a pretty shitty alternative.