October

October is hurting again,
a rag-doll, dumb-drunk hurt.
No method or madness
anymore. Just
stuck-up, tongue-tied hurt.

I miss old friends with their
tag-team, seamless hurt.
All to see now, the
dry-rust leaves and the
ice-pick, guilt-sick hurt.

And I want to lie and
say it’s better.
But I just
drop-dead hurt.

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