The trees on my street wrapped around my neck,
Blinding me from the rest of the world.
The dying grass in my yard is like quicksand,
Every step sinking into a pit of crisp nothingness.

The sky is like an endless abyss of sorrow,
And at any moment the stars will fall
From their place in the universe,
Bombarding my body as they soar to the ground.

Impending temperature drop, death-ridden open-air,
Frostbitten-blue, my blood freezes too.
Vulnerable like an icicle in bright, unforgiving sun,
That burns my ears, scars my cheeks.

Wind blows, my head teeters on my neck,
As summer’s fruits teeter on cracking branches.
The sky cries, the drops feel like frozen acid
Upon my freckled skin,

I deteriorate.

Slowly weathering away,
Left with no shelter to rest beneath,
As I hold myself together until the season passes.