I thought about the weather a lot today and how my moods keep changing with the seasons.

Summer came quickly, too hot to handle. Lit me up to make me sweat and watch me fall exhausted alone and sad.

Autumn came without a warning with a chilly breeze and bright colors warning me of the coming storm I knew I couldn't stop.

Winter was faster though, ice cold, chilled me to the bone. Made me stronger though! Walked through blizzards to make it home.

Spring... Well there was never a real spring. We didn't have pastels and romance. We didn't have soft winds and warm nights... We skipped spring this year and went straight back to summer to die.

don't fall in love with a boy
who smells like winter
because all he had is
frozen heart and cold soul

don't put your high hopes with a boy
who smells like winter
don't. you. ever.
because he just love a girl
who smells like spring
the one who are melting for
the one who keep him warm
even in the 0 degrees

don't you ever
fall in love
or put your high hopes
with a boy who smells like winter
because he will never love a girl
who smells like autumn

Sitting in a hall way,
In a concrete jungle.

Sitting in the warm yellow light,
Looking out to the cold dark that envelopes the world.

Watching the rain pound, pound, pound down,
Hearing the drops hit the puddles as they grow deeper, and deeper down.

Shivering in the October air,
But refusing to zip up my calf skin jacket.

Thinking back to the days when man wore fur,
And hunted big game in the middle of a frigid winter.

Shamefully thinking of how well domesticated we all are,
Bred to scurry across the Earth in fear.

Resulting into the classic cliche of survival of the fittest,
Lying, stealing, killing, keeping the status quo.

The rain pounds harder, making my bones stiff,
I'm hiding away, I'm low on the food chain.

But what if I changed the game, transform into a big game hunter,
And not through violence, but through love.

Look out for the human race, be the chief, the pack leader,
Be relieved of the boredom that derives from existing.

Why wait for somebody else to step up,
When my time is slipping away like the rainwater dripping off a tree.

He was heartless
And cold like winter
Yet he gave her all of his heart
And all of his warmth

They called me a pessimist
And I guess I am
I mean it's true
But it's not my fault that the autumn days are dark
Whispering harshly in the night
Ripping leaves off of trees
Leaving them limp and bare to survive winter
The little winds foreshadow the coming brutal storms
That leave us cold in terror
But the breeze is so powerful
It numbs my skin like a drug
Keeps my blood rushing, wanting more
And my eyes are pleased to see the rainfall of the leaves
From branches of clouds
So beautiful
Then comes the holidays and cremed cocoas
The laughter and the dazzling crisp snow
One true pessimist
They call me but I'll go with it and let it go

The Autumn Railroad

it was a place of great indifference, the type
of indifference that only happens in limbo, in the
final brush of breeze that tears a red leaf from a
stem, from a freeze-frame photograph,
that – somehow – lingers in a memory,
even though the paper was torn in half
long ago.

It was a place of great sorrow, the sultry
kind but also the kind that made kindness a
mirage or a fantasy or a dream that was beyond
all horrors due to the horror that happened there.
And when it happened – where the two tracks came
together over the bridge – where the two
boys used to bike on Sundays, where they decided
to go on Saturday instead – that’s where Autumn
never came again, that’s where the leaves never fell,
that’s where they fell to the leaves, where the leaves
don’t seem so red anymore, where anymore became
always mourn, and where morning met
the end of the road.

It was a place only for snow.