The Sun Came Out in December

Fire lights up the sand as it melts into glass.
She snaps a photo of you and you hope it doesn’t
capture how you feel you really look.
There is no way that a moment in time can show the gristle
grime of man that has no idea where he is supposed to be.
Can it?

A reflection of my emptiness stares back at me so hard
it makes me wince. And when you do gather up the courage
to finally look it in the eye, you realize that
there is nothing to fear but me, myself.

Orange and red mixes to make some kind of angry halo,
and it only serves to dictate my immortal disposition.
You know she sees it too.