Writing

I used to love fall

nostalgia, pretty leaves

now time flies faster.

I used to have friends who visited my house

just to say hi

who biked by

without a trace of jealousy of any boys I liked

I had rice and bean soup for dinner

the rice was swirling in the broth

there was a single bean in my spoon

and just as I thought

I am the bean

the bean sunk beneath the surface.

The irregular trods of exhaustion, followed by certain ones of death. Chasing the mouth of the Styx. Trying to ignore the screams of a thousands hanging from the limbs of lamenting branches, whilst following a torch that still would not light.

Try,

Always try your best,

even

when it seems like

the world is ending,

always try,

because it can always make a difference.

o beautiful vermont

speak to me

tell me the tales 

laid in your leaves 

tell me about the lovers who have hung from that tree 

all the sap drained from those trees

how to get to paradise?

it's dark. 

you wouldn’t know that if you looked at me, 

of course

you wouldn’t even know i’m there

transparent, lucid,