The Winter

Can't sleep.
The moon will eat me.
I slither and slide in one translucent mess; more wraith like then a person and too dense for a ghost.
Somedays I beg to be saved from this awful fate.
RESCUE ME
I cry silently-
until I turn back to the pornographic display of WITTY shirts waiting to be sold and consumed.
Someday we will gather around It's A Wonderful Life and laugh at these seemingly impossible months.
For now its:
Fold
Fold
Flip
Over
Repeat.