I spent two days crying over a boy
who couldn’t even admit that I was ever something to him.

Two nights crying my tears into a river
in a city that didn’t give two ***** about me.

A boy that wouldn’t hold me and couldn’t let go of me.

I was a flower, wilting and dying under his touch
because he just couldn’t bear to ******* cut me off.

Those are narrow, steep stone steps
that lead up to short crusted walls
and gritted grounds of sand  

Overlook the expanse of the lake
the willow trees, the autumn colours
Isolation, as you must learn, comes in
red and dust and wilted golden

when the wind blows
and the leaves rustle,
it is an echoing emptiness

the snow-frosted flower blossoms  
but walk past the fragile elegance
and hear it; listen to the soft sigh
quaver in the cold