A Day Lost
The winds break against the glass
with a soft, screeching whistle.
The glass responds with a low moan
as it flexes from the strain.
I feel a slow cold creep in
as the air filters through.
My gaze is set.
The white mess
still fills the air outside,
no end in sight.
This blessing turned curse.
A sip from the spiked drink,
a whisper in my head,
I am stuck.
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