To be laughed at,
and to hear the quiet whispers in the hall as I pass by.
Keep to yourself,
don't show the humiliation.
Let your chin remain held high.
The blurred vision will help nothing.
When you walk alone,
your shadow is still with you.
The fire from the sun seems to have died down.
And the leaves are my only true friends.
They have the courage to drop,
I am envious, and wish to drop as well.
It seems as though now days the wind likes to talk a bit more
Its loud voice to be heard by the ones who cover their ears.
The English districts
the traffic seems to build.
The 12 car pile up only kills 4.
But the red in the sun isn't as deep as the blood,
Spilled,
all over the cold autumn floor.
Quiet.
Cold and unnerving.
Alone with the leaves on the bed of the dead.
A gravestone to keep me company.
And mud to keep me trapped.
