January Ending

I sat on your thorns, January,

a losing queen-

while you stretched over the kingdom

like a slow plague;

you have made the people sick,

brought out teeths

in a room full of gentle farmers


all those blood on your hands, January,

I watched a mutiny unfold

after your trail- angry torches

we have burnt bridges and roads

and the neighbours squabble

over scorched earth


you spoilt milk, January,

you arduous eternity,

we would bury you in a heartbeat

if we could, if our hands weren’t made

of dipped cookies waiting to crumble

here to serve some passive aggressive poems
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