Please, Punxsutawney.

For the love of God, 

Do not look behind you.

Michigan seems meaner than ever this winter. 
Maybe I've been away too long, maybe my skin isn't as thick as I once thought it to be, but damn, whiskey decided to stay down South & cinnamon tea isn't curing the bitterness that's burrowed itself in deep this time 'round, so please, be kind, Phil & give us another early spring will ya? 

(All I see for miles & miles is this cold, but beautiful bitch blue...
So I bide my time, try not to think,
& when I dream it's all watery-eyed shades of pink...)


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