Fifth Season

The murky blues and fumes, When fresh air comes to blow these issues away But the breath of fresh air crawls past me. I surrender to its awful implications. I wish I could appear stronger. I wish I could leave as a man. But I cannot say a word. Can not utter a single sound. I'm too much in love with misery. So to misery I travel again. Wish it wasn't so. Wish it wasn't me. Wish I could live but as it is, I cut my hair. I cut my nails. I cut my heart. Nothing bleeds. Nothing hurts. Nothing feels. Everything in me is like a breath of stale coffee. A touch of moulding cigarettes. Summer comes and goes. Winter brings defeat. Spring is fresh flowers. Autumn is their death. Like me. I cry. I sleep. I die inside.