Wrapped all around my finger,
I wonder if my moans haunt you still
January weeps,
drugged off the joy
that our star swept smiles brought
My memories of you are gilded
with a lonely pink rose
Sitting at the altar of heartbreak,
Along with the
dramatic wreath of disappointments
gracing my head like a curse
January bemoans
the loss of our laughter
Never to be found again
Our story sorely cries for sympathy
like an unfinished essay