As March turns to April,
We all wait for the warmth,
But poor april surrenders
To the cold of the north.

Cool breeze in my hair;
Goosebumps dot my arms.
The world feels so still
Without the sun’s charms.

This feeing of hope,
That I know all too well,
Gets crushed every year,
Too painful to tell.

Yet this year it’s different,
Disappointment wont fade,
It keeps growing inside me,
I’m filled with the shade.

My bones all feel heavy,
Each step is a battle,
Every heart beat is slow,
Chained up in a shackle.

I’m fighting it hard,
It’s the middle of July,
But I've grown so tired,
All I want is to cry.

So the sun rose and fell,
And I do wish I’d known,
That I could’ve asked for help,
And I wasn’t alone.