Lights-camera-action

My last time

Walking down steps

Of a rickety, yellow home

Leaving shouts and laughter

Behind me

My last time

Walking down steps

Of a home I hated every afternoon

June 8th, Saturday

Maybe a cremee

Maybe some gusts of wind and

Together we bike

Trying to enjoy

A moment of earth and wind

Disrupted by bugs

June 7th, Friday

Red and black and white

Dress to remember the day

That is coming soon

Stories told while breath

Is held is like prison and

Never a good tale

Cold winds tickle the trees

As light snow falls quietly

On the leaves of an evergreen

Forest

Grass falls as the storm grows

Winter whistling its bitter,

Freezing songs

 

tink tink tink
Standing outside
The harsh,
Cold wind
Rushing through my soul
And cutting into wounds, 
The ones you can't see
And I start crying
Trying to hold back the tears
But I can't
And they come ,

October.
Already?
It still feels like winter.
The orange of the pumpkin
Looks like the sun
And reminds me
You don't know it's fall,
Because you never saw the summer