Untitled

The rivers will run red

with the blood of our mistakes,

as the sun comes up and burns away

the stench,

I'll look at you,

and shake my head--

"What have I gotten myself into?"
The mountains put on their snow caps

because they are ashamed of us,

the trees shed their leaves

in fear.
And as we walk along,

we grin as we hear the crunch

of their discarded courage underneath our feet,

We grin as we watch the sun duck

behind the clouds when we come outside,

we grin as we tear ourselves apart.

And the crunch of the fallen leaves

becomes the crunch of our bones

as they fall to the floor

time and time again.

I melt into a puddle of a person,

and I tear my skin

trying to pick up my bones.

This frailty becomes less of a specialty

and more of a bother each and every day.

My personality scattered amongst my bones--

scavengers come and steal what they like.

The roses blush in embarrassment,

the birds sing as if to mock me.
I wash my hands in the river,

and watch as the water turns scarlet.--
I can't be dying,
but I feel it.

I can't be dying,

but you see it;

as I fade more by the day,

and even my blood turns

to black and white

and my spine has escaped me.
My God, where are my bones?
I pick them up,

they fall back out.

I pick them up,

they fall out again.

Could you please help?

You look at me

and shake your head,

"What have I gotten myself into?"