December

In my December youth, growing bolder in my ascent: I took charge to bleed my faults. Broken pieces of pride like chards, disregarded in my December onslaught. Locking my inner child in a vault. Coming to an end on the heels of anew. Community comradery channeling it's commonground to a lone giant of emotions. With all the pangs of youth melted away revealing what could be. Tell me all this misery was not for naught. Reveal to me the plain in the mist, that fine spray of residual present time. Cherishing my past and embracing the thought, pickling my pshyche in a killing jar. Leaving the door to death ajar.