Devastated & *****.
You grasp at exposed roots & rocks,
asking for grief to leave you.
Like they did--
but gentler.
Your face slides across the wet grass,
this is when you slice into a million,
little pieces.
You've lost one sock.
And all you can taste,
is that orange summer.
Funny how quickly citrus can sour.
Fingernails of blood & dirt--
this is where you wonder where all the flowers went?
And then you start to question--
were there ever any flowers at all?