All We Got Was Autumn. All We Got Was Winter.

[poppyromanov]

nothing was fervent. nothing was budding. everything was
the sickness and then my bed. everything was all midnight all
touching myself in dark corners hoping for release. constantly
finding myself awake in mornings despite the persistence
of retreating. how to sleep forever without dying. how to sleep for-
ever without depression. how to sleep forever but someone notices
long enough to come and wake you into spring. then summer.
then everything I wanted was the birds bothering me with all
their muchness outside my window. everything was love, love
my season and still the mother sicked herself to sleep with gas
and she did not wake up. I remember her every day and pretend
a love of both poppies and horses and bread and milk. how I miss
her. watch from the ashes and no one rises and how men continue
to breathe this air. almost thankful for not being consumed
but to instead consume. almost thankful for my bones if not for
the fact of my back. depended on you. you depended on nothing
but pictures. would wish myself to end if not for the fact my love
for the birds and the bees. wished myself into tears. somewhere else
an ocean roars I do not see it I do not hear it, I brush my teeth.