The grass is wearing my lipstick
and there's frost on my face.
I see no trace
of the bird that took my shoe.
The trees are looming over,
taking fun of my fallen state.
Is there nothing better for them to do?
My cheeks are redder than a
snowstorm,
the bugs are in my hair.
The bird has taken my other shoe,
They're tied up on the fairy lights.
Do they truly not care?
Because I fall they do not fight
their own fights.
A rabbit grew wings and gave me back
my shoes.
The grass returned my lipstick and the frost
cooled down my face.
Tomorrow I may fall again,
But of the trees,
there will be no trace.
Nov 9, 2015
Nov 9, 2015 at 7:16 PM UTC
The grass is wearing my lipstick
and there's frost on my face.
I see no trace
of the bird that took my shoe.
The trees are looming over,
taking fun of my fallen state.
Is there nothing better for them to do?
My cheeks are redder than a
snowstorm,
the bugs are in my hair.
The bird has taken my other shoe,
They're tied up on the fairy lights.
Do they truly not care?
Because I fall they do not fight
their own fights.
A rabbit grew wings and gave me back
my shoes.
The grass returned my lipstick and the frost
cooled down my face.
Tomorrow I may fall again,
But of the trees,
there will be no trace.