You don't give a flying fuck–

It's admirable.

 

Really.

It is.

 

But this time,

You are wrapped in weakness,

enveloped in the unknown.

 

But this time,

You have no control,

and your sly jargon

is no match for your

raw exterior.

 

Its hands once were supple

and smelled of sweet lavender.

They are now brittle and cracking.

It will feel foreign.

 

The nomenclature you

are accustom to

will no longer be a source

of comfort.

And the familiarity

this day holds

will lose its warmth.

 

But as winter creeps to a halt,

the white blanket will retract

to expose a bright exterior

full of life.

 

Life will thaw

as the temperatures rise

and the pulse of the day

will return.

 

The hands that once

fed you poison will

nurse you back to health.

And you will be strong

Again.