You may believe in your fictitious destitution,
You may be adrift in your false desolation,
You may be wandering a path of solitude,
And you may be drowning in ignorance.

I am occasionally condemned as such.

Our isolation like a xerox.
Synonymous of withdrawal into one's self.
Not uncommon, even cherished.

Individuality becomes enveloped.
Becoming our own worst enemies,
Among a sea of monochromes.

Exposed complexion,
Defined blush,
Vulnerable iridescence.

Recognize a promise to identity.

Brisk air
The wind in my hair
The things I love about fall
Small leaves tumble to the ground
The crunching sound
when you walk around
The smell of pumpkin in the air
The way the trees look so beautiful
so bare
I love so many things about fall
But it is him who I love most of all
The smell of his car when we go for a ride
The way his smile makes me light up inside
Now I could go on for ever about what I love
Instead I'll compare him to the season I speak of
Cold breeze on my skin
Standing hand in hand with him
I wish I could truly explain how I feel
But I can't
and thats how I know this is real
Thats how this season makes me feel.

bludgeoned to believe
in ever after stories
by the endless yarn of lies
I wear in pride,
eyes shining in glee
wondering...
when does the mirror break
and the witch call an end
to my dark fairy tale?
I shall referee,
just to gainsay, I'm afraid,
that I continue
to leap
from ledges.
And flee.