the exorcism of winter

she smiled when she cried,
her harlequin heart ripped by the
very thing that used to make it beat

spring passed by in a hearse,
poisoned by the blood
from her own eyes

and it was all her fault,
they say it was all her fault

but she was tired being the recipient
of their accusations, exhausted with
their fingers pointing straight at her
like stray bullets made from
gunpowder and malice

perhaps she was wrong and they were right
and maybe everyone else was tired from
listening to all these excuses she made
just to rationalize her own mistakes

she died that summer-
her corpse buried in the backyard
where the gumamela flowers
were starting to wither, killed by
the fifth verse of a gunslinger's
baritone serenade

but then, autumn arrived and resuscitated
her lungs with its iced coffee-flavored
liqueur breath and so she started
to believe that falling was some kind
of crash course to be able to find
herself amidst poetry written
by her own bruises

and she learned how to exorcise winter
by shooting yesterday's ghost while
singing to the sun

.
.
.

inspired by the cab's "symphony soldier" album cover