January two thousand and twenty-five.
Lucky for me, I’m still alive.
However I go back school
At that point I feel like a fool
For all land around is just snow
And that is something I don’t know.
February two thousand and twenty-five.
My mind and stomach takes a dive
Into darkness for me to roam
And always wish to go back home
It’s when I learn I’m seasonally depressed
And it is the reason why I am stressed.
March two thousand and twenty-five.
Long Island, New York is where we drive
To have a nice and clear spring break
It’s slightly warmer, so I don’t shake
But when it ends and I’m back to school
The snow returns and acts so cruel.
April two thousand and twenty-five.
I drop off packages and drive
Back to campus until a cue
When suddenly all I see is two.
Arrive at campus yet cannot walk
Snow comes down to further mock.
May two thousand and twenty-five.
I am reminded she’s no longer alive
New Orleans her life we celebrate
She surely watches within God’s gate
Because I know where she has gone
Simply because Hell was not drawn.
June two thousand and twenty-five.
In New York City I arrive
For surgery that will heal my head
And force me to stay within bed
Until I can leave the hospital
And walk around as if I’m little.
July two thousand and twenty-five.
I’m still healing, so I can’t drive.
My memory is trying its very best
Yet I repeat what comes to my chest
My brain takes time to function again
But when it’s done I don’t know when.
August two thousand and twenty-five.
Back to school I force to arrive
For I am still young another year
And in my classes I will hear
The sounds of voices I don’t know
So why not uncover the scar to show?
September two thousand and twenty-five
I will celebrate the month I came alive
I will wear the sapphire oh so blue
I will show baby photos, too
Of me as autumn makes leaves fall
Then stay in my dorm and make a call.
October two thousand and twenty-five
My inner witch will come to strive
To decorate the place and wear my hat
Grab my crystals and pet the cat
For then won’t matter any a scene
Because all that matters is Halloween.
November two thousand and twenty-five
Then Thanksgiving will try to thrive
I’ll go home and have a doctor or two
Witness how large the pup had grew
And get attacked by all three pooches
And pray someone will save me from smooches.
December two thousand and twenty-five
Snow on the ground, but I will arrive
Back home again for more than one week
And allow my mouth to finally speak
Of all the things that are up and down
And ask old Santa for a new crown.
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