The Season

I think this is the best I've done so far and it is finished

Tissues falling from the ceiling,

layer upon layer upon layer.

Collapsing seamless into one pile below.

Tickle, nudge, push, squash, crush.

A butcher sharpens eyelid knives on a strip of dry leather.

Despair.

Reviews

[Mister T.]

It seems as if you're talking about the winter season, taking the title and the first few lines into account. Am I right? Anyway, writing isn't bound to having one single meaning in my opinion. Everyone can see different meanings in it. That's the beauty of writing, I guess :)
Anyways, enjoyable, short poem, keep writing!

[Coyote Poetry]

I do like the use of words. The flow of words and thoughts left the reader with something to think about. Thank you for sharing the excellent poetry.
Coyote

[V]

Expressive one. Vivid images. (Though I don't like the butcher picture, but that's only personal taste)