What Happens in the Fall?

by Megan W.

Cold air brushes my face and swirls my hair in knots,

Reminding me of my struggles and all of my pain.

Looking out into the abyss in front of me, I remember

How lonely I've become, how little motivation I have.

No, I do not want to continue on with my day,

I do not want to fake being happy like so many others do,

Because I am not, and why should I be?

The only friends I have around me are the dying leaves,

And the old, thoughtful trees of this forest that I spend

The majority of my time wandering about.

Dust and mold irritates my corneas and upsets my sinuses,

Making me cry the tears that I so desperately held in my lashes

To keep safe and unseen and unused, to avoid

The humiliation that would most definently come along.

The ground looks so warm and comforted because of

The blanket of leaves that hold on when there is a chance.

But I remain cold and ashamed in the emptiness of my hurt,

And the circumstances that left me this way make room

For themselves to enter back into my treasured memory,

To return, to abandon, to hurt, to torture, to murder.