Not the horror story I promised, but I hope you like it
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Ode to the Morning After

I fell asleep with the lights on,

The smell of Autumn still burning on my sheets

Only to be replaced by the newly fallen snow.

Why do people always hate December?

If it were mind, I would praise My December,

Do away with all its insults and contradictions,

And embrace the everlasting cold.

The Northern Wind turns blue and touches me with a kiss;

Oh, Angel, won’t you lay your head on my pillow tonight?

The sunrise tells me it has come,

Born on the wings of Dark and Desolate Days,

To make me curse the moon

And its promise to never come down

Hope is buried

A bottle of sweet tasting February Air marks her place.

I leave with the regret that she will never be my own

Tracing my steps in the once prayed for snow.

Hope is strong but can she last?

Ask me again when Winters come to pass

I fight to awake to a snowy meadow’s morning.

Even with Autumn’s scent burnt fresh in my sheets

The taste of one’s lips to hold me steadfast and true;

Dream of me again when company’s grown too old and too few

My Fatal Four Words are tied to a pole

Burnt at the stake for all the world to see.

My Despair, My Shame, and the feebly said wish

That no one should ever see it

And that it should never escape my lips again.

Harsh and Brutal, please just tear me apart,

You’ve haunted me long enough so go home,

Be sober,

And never ask me to reprieve you again,

Especially on this sleepless night.

I’m done tonight,

My world’s been rent apart.

The light is on and the sun’s come up

But I still search to find an end to these events

With Hope

You’re beside me.

You alone tonight is in question,

My Fatal Four Words cause me to choke,

Whisper something blue to me

And know you hold the blame

Because when your dark hair fell upon my pillow,

All you whispered to me

Was

“Sleep.”