October brims with prosaic ramblings
and violent velvet skies
she ties up her loose ends
as forlonity fades from our ears
and the last leaves turn brown
like a select few, meant to die young
October breathes out
and her decay is eaten alive.
YOU ARE READING
Blood Orange Periphery
PoetryMy suicide had been two years in the making when I decided not to follow through at the last minute. Over the past decade, I've written poems, books, short stories, fanfiction and hundreds of thousands of words, but nothing felt complete. This coll...
