She is December.
She wraps a noose around her body in the form of a tape measure.
She takes pride in being cold in a warm room.
She likes to watch the numbers dwindle but only in herself.
She's been through two psych wards but there's nothing stopping her now.
Her skin is cold to the touch and she is used to saying goodbye.
She is a light.
She is the end, whose ailing is her victory.
She is December.
Her name is January.
She was a fighter.
Her fists used to curl in on itself, bruises on every knuckle from every fight.
Now, her fists curl around the neck of any beer bottle she can find.
Her lungs are filled with tar.
She is all play, no work.
She doesn't want much, only the world.
She laughs like she is going to die young.
She believes that humans are nothing more than human.
She is a cyclone.
She is the beginning, whose ailing is her demise.
Her name is January.
Two broken people can't fix each other, but they can help each other heal themselves.
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Y E A R S - COMING SOON
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years
Short StoryDecember & January through the years, because the beginning and end were always the loneliest. © all rights reserved 2015. Reyna Damaris #freethelgbt #taygetsthegay
