A honey field of cornflowers
into a rolling grey sky of showers
all the planted seeds
into a land of overgrown weeds

He turns
back the hands on the clock
I'm a child that cannot talk
the dots on my i's and bars on my t's
are all in a state of deep freeze

He turns
a bright smile upside down
into a brown cracking pale frown
drains all the color from my eyes
I'm a ghost who mournfully cries

He turns
yesterday into a twisted tumor
doing so with cackling humor
today is painted in matted black
has me ******* like a gunny sack