Seasons Of The Damned

Summer walks in like that ex who still thinks they’re the main character

Loud, glowy, overcooked —

smells like sunscreen and unresolved ego

Gaslights the ozone layer

while handing out sunburns like party favours

You call it a heatwave

She calls it "passion"

Plants die. Crops rot.

But hey — rooftop brunches and chilled beer

Priorities

Winter is that emotionally unavailable friend

who cancels plans, then texts ‘here if you need.’

He shows up in silence and leaves in frostbite

A seasonal shutdown in a turtleneck

No small talk. No hope.

Just a bleak reminder that love,

like central heating,

was never meant for everyone.

You cry. He nods.

Then lights a cigarette at your funeral and calls it “closure”

Spring is a manic pixie dream girl with unresolved trauma

High on serotonin and denial

She calls every breakdown a breakthrough

Hasn't slept in weeks,

but started a garden and four healing journeys

You’re allergic to her optimism—

but she’ll still hand you daffodils

like they’re prescription medication.

Side effects may include

allergies, apologies,

and bad decisions dressed as healing

Autumn is that artsy friend who romanticizes decay

and smells faintly of vintage failure

Always talking about “letting go”

while still stalking their ex on social media

Leaves fall

So does their appraisal ratings at work

And their standards

Dead leaves, curated playlists, and trauma in sepia tones.

As if shared playlists and sweaters can fix generational rot

Spoiler: they can’t

But goddamn — melancholy never looked so photogenic

And then there’s you.

Part drought, part flood

Forecast by therapy,

climate by mood swing

Your mental health is sponsored by

Google Weather and unmedicated hope.

People call you inconsistent—

but even God outsourced his unpredictability

to your bloodstream

We’re told every season has a reason

That dysfunction is just

a poetic word for “normal”

But you and I know better

The world isn’t balanced

It’s bipolar

And we’re just trying not to combust

while pretending we’re blooming

So wear the chaos like sunscreen

Break like branches

Melt like glaciers, if you must

You’re not out of season

You’re just out of fucks