The cool Autumn breeze whips around the corner,
chilling all in it’s path
like some kind of phantom
a phantom called November.

November, November, the month where it all fell apart,
the month that I lost it all. The month where it was taken away.
the scent of the fall fills the air;
as the phantom forms amber tornados of leaves in the streets.

The streets, the streets, the place that I now call home,
I am all alone
chatter of the greedy fills the streets as they haul their turkeys home,
none for me, I starve; no thanks to be given.

This corner is my prison
constructed of the cast away, decaying bright orange leaves;
the warden a phantom.
A phantom called November.