Winter morning blues.

It’s a cold, dry winter morning

just a little past two o’clock...

I’m sitting here on the cold metal bench

in an empty street

the icy breeze sweeping past..

taking with it crumpled,

dead dark red autumn leaves.

It’s empty here

It’s eerie here

there’s not a soul in sight.

The trees are dead and decaying,

the branches are heavy with dejected ice...

ready to be done with this heavy night.

It’s cold and lonely

but it feels like home

for this is all I’ve ever known.

There’s a single street lamp in the distance

it’s near enough to admire

and yet far enough that I cannot ever reach it..

It emits a beautiful soft yellow light...

I watch, and see a thin curtain

of pastel fog form

illuminated by the lamp’s glow...

I watch, and it fades away into vapor

leaving little beads of condensation

dripping down the glass

that then harden, forming miniature icicles,

frozen in time, a reminder of what was.

I’m still sitting here on the cold metal bench

freezing, anhedonic, melancholic.

I watch the street lamp slowly burn out

and I watch my world darken

and dissolve into blackness.

-You’re my streetlamp.

(I’m not talking about the winter weather here)

-Love.