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If we were like the four seasons,
My favorite hour would be dawn after the long dreadful night.
But how am I to explain that this isn't the dreadful night?
How am I to break it down in the simplest manner, that this is the calm before the storm.
The calm where you watch your walls crumble, slow and steady until it is you and the daggers left.
The calm where you wrecked your very walls thinking they were the prison to your jailer.
Thinking they were the monster to your sheep clothed wolf.
Why are we back again at this foothill?
This is supposed to be happy.
But where is happiness? I smelt something in the air.
The metallic scent is as strong as the brown hue of death tainting the falling autumn leaves.
I know autumn is meant to be beautiful, fall is supposedly pretty.
But fall is death, dressed in another regalia.
Death everytime I smelt your perfume on another.
Death when I sought for you in the comforting arms my brother.
Your name was a bother, but I saw it everywhere I looked.
Evening in the darkness of my shut lid, it lit up like the autumn sun.
Where is happiness? The last I'd seen her, she'd been murdered.
In cold blood of lies and pretense.
Scarred by the never ending cycle of love and lust, constantly forced on the joyride to heal that which was lost until every bit of her essence drained.
Where was happiness? When I drowned in the icy waters of hate.
Mary Jane tucked me sleep on a daily, and in my dreams my demons and I would fly away .
Fly to a world of black and white pictures, where true colors needed no blue moon.
However, this is autumn, the season of all things brown.
Of beautiful sunsetty moments, come let's play pretend happiness.
Even though it is the calm before the storm,
It's still the calm, and in the calm there is peace.
FALL may be death, but what exactly are you putting to death?

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#poetry #nirclepoetry #spokenwords #lovestory