The fall; when leaves turn yellow, red, pink,
My seasons they paint me, black as the ink,
Doused in hate, it leaves me constricted,
This bitter sweet taste, it has me addicted.
Standing in front of the pieces I’ve slain,
The demons who’ve fought to claim;
this hollow pit of guilt and vain,
which they have come to love to tame.
Bereaved of my organismic self,
Morbidly embraced by phantoms of hell,
Dreading the disgrace from head to toe,
Laden upon by doleful woes.
A cavity grown deep within my breast;
Insane I am, put me to rest!
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