I rather bleed on to paper
And have people know I was here
Than bleed onto cold pavements
And have it washed by the rain

I prefer being lonely
It means that nobody can pick on me
Or at least, say hurtful things
Within my hearing distance

Wooly layers
Pumpkin spiced
Crunchy leaves
Darker nights
Browns, oranges and deep reds

Autumn is here

I remember sitting down on the bus
As it pulls out to leave the stop
You wave at me through the window
With a misty look in your eyes
As though you regret this, us
I tuck my hair behind my ear sheepishly
Lips still tasting of your sweet lust
I can still remember how you softly yet firmly pushed yours onto mine
My neck, burning at the red marks
That you placed there as a sign of dominance over me
I was always yours
But you was never mine