The creatures scream and shout,

From the winter boondocks of my mind,

Oh, the things they scream about;

Their gnarly, needy hands,

Desperately attempting to grip my fate and my future,

To either destroy and dissolve it,

Or implant an infectious tumor;


My head,

My brain,

And my sanity,

Who just want to be left be,

Cry and scream their loudest for help,

The help they know they all need;


A little plastic bottle was given,

Miles beyond reluctance,

And from there I was driven,

Driven far away from the icy canyon of suicide,

And the freezing ocean of insanity;


My driver was my salvation,

My ingestible savior,

My little, circular exorcist,

Who forever changed the creatures’ behaviors;


For a while, there was a hopeless apathy in this type of cold,

But I am now one who finds beauty in breakaway from the wretched winter,

And still one who finds strength in every soul.


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