house sitting some dogs, though it feels like they care of me.

letting the sun hit my face, while i hit a j.

as every year, twenty fourth to be exact, the cold crept back and with it, my disdain to be awake.

i hide behind comfort, weed, food, people, sleep.

if i hide hard enough, i wait out the thick of it, will it go by fast? — faster?

just until the sun presses against my skin again.