Trumpets scream in my ears, the drums pop, blood trickles out. I have no love to give, only obsession

Smoke drifts through the air,
Sere leaves burnt in a pile.
A chill in the air, but a warm sun.
Stretched out like a cat on the crisp grass
That smoky wind blows by.
How long I’ve waited for you.
My burnt orange heaven.

I dread the  good dreams of you more than my darkest nightmare

I am seventeen years old
And I’m sitting at the bottom of my tub.
I’ve cracked my wrists open like the windows in my room-
I’m trying to let some light in
I need to breathe fresh air into my body.
this is the only way I know how
I have closed the curtains,
boarded up the doors.
you had a key
And you trekked in mud and pine needles from the giant spruce tree outside.
I pick them out of my hair
And line them up on the side of the stained porcelain tub.
I am thinking of putting out a foreclosure sign in my front yard-
Abandoning these halls and leaving everything but this stained tub behind.
Seventeen is hard and rough,
It had calloused hands and it took things from me I wasn’t ready to give.

- I am twenty now
- And I’ve redone my home and tore out the stained tub

I can touch you,
I can't feel you.
I can kiss you,
I can't taste you.
I can hold you,
I can't help you.
I am with you,
I'm not there.

My November’s are always pivotal