“My sorrow, when she’s here with me, 

Thinks these dark days of autumn rain

are beautiful as days can be.”

 ~ Robert Frost

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Sadness makes herself at home again

and my limbs stay by my sides,

weighed down to begin with,

defeated without a fight.

She grins at me

over the rim of her cup

and reminds me of how much

it takes to stay afloat,

I forget I’d realized

my freedom to leave,

another leaden sip

burns down my throat.

 

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