well, they always start
the same way:
in winter, it always starts in
winter, that’s when I am my weakest.
I am usually unsettled,
raving at the window,
the frost,
the cracks in my joints announcing
themselves in arthritic temper.
  you’re so young
I’m so young at this.

inexplicably manic
during the darkest months,
at times I know I should
be sleeping so I am reaching
for anything that reaches
to help me get through the
night.

in truth, I am a nihilist.
men didn’t teach me that
nothing ever matters and
nothing is ever coming back.
I watch my days get dragged away by tides
that become encroaching swells
and think to myself,
well, it always starts
with a storm.

“well”

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