Feeling cold in the Month of May

I'm feeling cold in the Month of May
as you bedazzle my sightless range.
When broken limbs just wish to play,
when safety anchors the deranged.

I'm finding a plane in a valley uneven,
for they call what they wish to May.
My December is warm, if you believe in
standing straight in a world turvy in it's way.

Feeling cold in the Month of May
Blood flowing bold in immaculate play.