Not yet out of spring
Not yet out of that thing.
In late May of 2012
I affectionately call that my personal hell.
I live another four seasons
I have yet to find my reason.
In the passing of yet another year
I haven’t found things more clear
In fact I’m pensive
Reluctant to give.
My heart hopes and it dreams
At night I awaken myself with loud screams.
Sometimes replaying those episodes in late May
Wondering if I would go about things a different way.