The Sinner’s Months

My life is like to calvary as my soul to agony,
Bitter days than better days abound my memory,
Found myself in deep sleep and troubled anxiety,
This scenery made me completely helpless in January.

My love is like to ice as my angst to fire so fiery,
While the bee should kiss a rose like a fairy,
The rose to a rose with gentleness hugged tightly,
How sweet to a rose yet sour to a bee is my February.

My craft is like to bomb as my manner to match,
Great explosion happens with just one touch,
Somebody stole and ate on my precious catch,
Delightful time for them but for me a disastrous March.

My heart is like to hammer as my brain to drill,
Both share with tremendous pain and unbearable ill,
My conciousness is filled with horror and thrill,
Holloween is real and is felt desperately in April.

My fear is like to predator as my hope to prey,
Sense of reason malfunctions from day to day,
Sense of direction is pointed against the right way,
This is how hopeless and meaningless I am in May.