I am in pieces
scattered across the carpet
shoved beneath the bed
out of sight in drawers
when everyone and everything seems at the peak
I am looking up to the mountain
wishing I had brought my boots
every window is an opening,
and I find myself wishing to escape
and I find myself holding only so many hours in my hand
trying desperately to not allow myself
to just allow myself
to just let
to just
no time

painting my face the colors of fall
a pair of autumn eyes.
however, my intentions are good
doesn't that count for anything anymore?
a nod, a smile, a wonderful combination of the two
the best way to lie is to change the truth