Writing

I remember the last time I walked home by myself. 

The right eye decays 
The left is beaming prisms 
            Sharp enlightenments 
Jargoning 3-D 
dust fragments, plaque erodes 

When the leaves fall and I hear the sound,

I walk above the crunchy ground,

Church bells ring as thanksgiving awaits,

I think to myself what is there to hate?

the leaves are turning the color of your eyes again 

as they fall to the ground i take care not to step on them 

break their fragile spines, crack their delicate skin 

i wish i knew why you laughed,

and how much of yourself you're holding back. 

i wish i knew if you liked me too,

or if you just think of me as a friend. 

i wish you knew i got you those roses 

I hold on, afraid to let go, 

to leave the only home I know 

I watch the other leaves dance to the ground

I hear them die as the crunch sounds