I'm in the grips of a sleet storm
helpless on a Thursday morning,
walking on a deserted field,
where the boys play some pretty sport.
they say they're in love
but they leave it in winter
so what was the cost to start it?

slowly stepping through the woods
careful not to ***** myself
or tear my skirt
or lose my mind
on those crimson thorns.
In the back of my mind
i hear a siren, it's real
here it comes, there it goes,
silence.

That's the silence of someone calling for help.

I'm in love with the pines
at the edge of the road
not the road itself.
hot headlights search me while zooming by
search through layers of clothing
nod, say "alright"
and they're gone.
If I look back I glare
but that seems to be rude now.

down at the traffic light
i'll cross the street when I want,
but for right now i'll study my
glossy shoes.
there's pieces of sky on them

and there's an old empty house behind me
it's paralyzed and hurt
and people drive by
it uses sparse pines to cover itself
from uncanny stares.
it would like to dissolve,
maybe today
or tomorrow
but right now it's getting dark.

and i'm trying to find my way home