You and August

You and August

THIRTY ONE days all it had.
Yours might be thirty two,
Or should we keep counting.

Thirty days all I did,
Was to put it all into art,
Sending myself elsewhere.

Thirty one days all that I am,
Just another messed up being,
Trying so hard to make a move forward.

All August got was thirty one days.
But you’ve got,
As many as you wanted.

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