it's a fog that rolled in
the minute my mother and father made eye contact
and it hasn't rolled out since.
my forecast never called
for anything but grey.
and so, you see,
when you try to tell me that
"it will get better,"
i try to picture the sun, i do -
but i don't know what it looks like.
summer's never coming.
i'm the february gloom.
4.03.2014
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