Wasted

Its human to feel wasted,
like a lifetime of sacrilege.

I tell myself.

Cold

The sight of the cold lowering itself onto the plains,
as grim as the shroud being pulled over the dead.
you convulse as the chill bites into your hands,
spare a thought for the homeless as you cower under the spread.

Drive

Create silence in the head to clear the blur
focus on the intention for the means to appear