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Autumn Bruening May 2019
Autumn leaves
fall right on schedule.

Another season
of finally letting
yourself die

And watching
people find beauty
in the morbidity

of others.
Fall is both my favorite season and the time that brings me the most pain.
Autumn Bruening May 2019
Beautiful music floats through the air
Finding its way to every lending ear.
When, in a fleeting glance, I notice a man
Who does not bend to the will
Of such voices that move me.

He speaks without words
In a secret language I wish to know.
To be alone in a sea of voices unheard,
Is strangely, tragically beautiful.
A deaf man made a home in my heart., something about him was so peaceful. He was so happy with life, even amidst not having the ability to hear. I giggle to myself at how perplexing life is and yearn to match his happiness.
Autumn Bruening May 2019
The cold ground feels nice.
I take off my puffer
And let myself feel
The bite of last nights frost.

A moon-lit trail calls to me.
The stars lend their sparkle
To the icy layer that floats atop

Deeply, I wonder, would i swim?
Or let myself become part of the
Inevitable.
A late night drive home past the icy lake in winter. Depression moves on so quickly and more often than not, coinciding with perfect opportunities that make you second guess tomorrows possibilities or the possibility of tomorrow.
Autumn Bruening May 2019
When i was young,
I would’ve have given my mother the world.
Every mothers day, i would paint
My very best picture,
And I would walk to my grandmother's garden
To pick the tallest Easter lilies
That had bloomed weeks before.
Her front yard boasted
the most beautiful flowers
That fill my memories.
But like the colorful bloom,
My mothers love disappeared with time.
And sloppy paintings and roughly cut stems
Would never be good enough for her.
Poem to my mother who fuels a chronic depression.
Autumn Bruening May 2019
Manipulation
is how you convince me
to believe that i am nothing.
And even though i know your methods,
I still cant avoid your grasp
As i gasp;
At the loathsomeness I feel
For wanting your love.
You toss me aside
With the old banana
That was just a little
Too ripe
For your liking.
Drowning in filth,
I cry out for you;
Mother, Mother!
Though only darkness
Comes to my aid.

— The End —