Brown crimson leaves, crunch
Crunch
Crunch
They crumble underneath my feet
Meaning it only just began again
Yet another year in the tall apcalptic place
That I've been doing for 12 years
A whiff of it driving into my nose
The scent brings a memory
One I don't want to come so soon
As it brings me back to those gates
An overrated scent, around the pumpkin season
Through, my nosals and bridging me back to my
Unfortunate demise, 8 hours of absolute boredom
It's like watching paint dry, a slow and painfulness
Ticking, the nosing driving through my mind on a never-ending
loop.
YOU ARE READING
Sea of death - Poetry
PoetryA book of poetry I wrote, was published on other things. Or it's stright up a call out / vent about someone. And typically those ones are obviously about someone.
