Unsteady Wind Direction

Rapid alterations between my manic winds have frozen the air of visibility unclear.

I am chipping away at the ice knives of angry tirades.

Who told me not to check the weather?

Nobody is on this road, but the words in me are piling snow and gales are saying no to the ground beneath me. All my frost is up in the air. I may melt or freeze. But listen you may learn something. Call it an inflated sense of self if you must, but the pressure gradient between my polar minds are tight and my storms intense. Listen I am explaining something.

I should have checked the weather.

Grandiose is not the word neither is irritability … can’t find it.

Ice in the air is still breathable. Come outside,

the lampposts are off but sometimes on, and I can’t decide which mood I need for you to hear me….

The air is cutting at speeds outside of time. Apathy is threatening elation.

I am cold, but honestly, the snow isn’t terrible. Just the man holding the globe is pissing me off with his shaking hand.

How do I find out what the weather is like tomorrow?