I’m as cold as the winter floors
Still shining bright like the Summer sun
Loosing color like the autumn leaves
And yet still trying to spring up like your flowers in the spring

Just like four different seasons I wear four different masks
Sometimes they are more, never less.
I wish there to be less, but only my confidence is less, my serotonin is less, a joyous appetite less,
my blood steadily becoming less as I’m banging on the walls to try and stop myself from using the sweet blade from doing the only thing I know how to use it for.
I’m starting to look pale almost like the corps I pray to be in 5, 4, 3, 2, 1