November beats its icy drum,

Parading about a ravenous crave for decay and resolution–

It pleads for you to burn yourself to the ground,

And create something greater from the tarnished ashes.

God beats his mighty voice,

And every word echoes against the silence.

Your voice quivers,

It falters,

Because the noise of the world seems to amplify whenever your weary lips part.

You long to be the heroine,

Even if it means that you are not the becoming hero–

But someone's unlawful addiction. 

In autumn, you seek purpose.

November tears apart every embrace,

You must learn to find comfort in the warmth,

And let go of rubbing the heat away from your parting skin.

In autumn, you succumb to acceptance.

Novembers begs you to embrace the saccharine nectar of solitary–

You refuse.

I ask you to forgive me, 

Please,

Unfortunately–

November is where I fall apart.