Today's winter sun is a brazen whore,
Taunting hungry, unloved skin, with her burnt sanguine glow
She's the look about her, that she might offer you more
As her distant gaze of longing grows
Aching at the very bones for radiant days
The skies roar with her fervoured fury but
December's sun is a wretched tease
She offers no warmth within her rages,
While she waltzes rubicundity
Leaves starve from her lacking,
Leaning, and giving from their veins
From December's whore find themselves blackened
Above lurid city outlines, lays herself to rest
Every footstep buries her wake's destruction
Sucking up the smoking bellows,
To turn their waste,
To tormented pleas of comfort
Useful only in torture, and madness,
All enraged souls that have been bought,
Bleating with open beaks,
To a mother's guilt of young's starvation
Who might watch their feathers loosen
Become quiet, resigned,
Meek
December's whore, is my maddening mistress
Distressing the heart with slow beats of calm,
She dances her rapture and beauty before me,
But she offers no warmth in her arms
In her embrace
She offers nothing
