Fragments

⤞november nightmares

I am fading,
like paper petals of
a dead paradise,
sleeping on thorns
and thistles and regrets
beneath a blood-red sky;
I am mourning,
my heart filled with
November nightmares,
and the memory of forgiveness
is nothing but a lie;
I am sinking,
as my tongue struggles
to find the right words to say,
and I can't quite
make this sorrow go away—
maybe, tomorrow,
the moon will sing,
but, sadly, not today.