As the crow flies,
A straw is in its mouth.

It only takes a thousand more,
For the old scarecrow
To stand at death’s door.

As a fallen leaf
Clings to the decaying branch,
I stand, fallen;
Throttling the past
With twisted recollections
And lemony memories.

The clouds daydream overhead,
as if they are in sync
With the petals of cold rain.

Charred stone
To molten ash;
Exchanges made
From fire to flame.

I evolve with the world;
Such changes are never tame.

The edge,
Bringing life to man,
As man brings
A relentless surf
Onto the unstable edge.

The petals on the stem,
A red without shadow.

Blood stained flowers
Marking us red;
The color of our hearts,
And the connection in our minds.

The fibers in the stem,
Become the python of my throat,
I’ll slowly lose air,
Until there’s none left for life.

A doorframe,
Standing in the endless plane.
The gateway of nothing,
An entrance to walk around.
Little chains
Blocking my entrance to this frame,
But they’re comfortable and tame.
Their blades may cut into my arms,
But I smile, convinced it’s okay.

Entering the frame,
The chains are shattered.
A heart to recover;
Regrow my listless wings.
Expelling the lingering avarice,
I stand, renewed alone.