It's not my fault they repeat,
they chant, it in the air and it grasps my hair.
and maybe across my heart, I wish it was.
Then I would hate, yes, I would scream, cry, point at that thing.
Instead, now I do it all at the person who I don't even know
And maybe it was late when I clung onto him as his hands caressed my face and got tangled in my hair.
the lies of a liar never end in this
everlasting affair.

Although the truth always comes to float,
a giant hole was punched through me.
I felt as if my life had thrown me back to
the crowd's fallen hurdle and cynical laughter.
The person I envisioned in my future, that person I
wanted to smell through my pores wasn't there next to me.

Although the trees choose what leaves fall, winter is melancholic.
It is expected spring and summer, but what is it about my leaf?
My dear, the expected, the promised.  
Now that I had seen its crevices. It was to let go.
Ugly, disturbing, underwhelming, and maybe
a bit rotten.
Where is my summer,
my spring days?