Summer, and she felt the black burn of the withering plants at her heels
telling her the faster she runs, the less she'll ever feel.
Autumn and like libraries,
we line up in rows suited for an army,
without realizing how just like one another we all are.
She's older now,
and wilder than she once was,
but still holding on to the notion she'd been fed.
She'd like to die just to know she was dead,
because nobody ever wanted her, and no man ever would.
High school, and discontentment wilted that spirit of hers
that spirit, that ran faster than she ever could
In the sharp weeds of the summer
In the hail of loud oak trees in autumn wind
In the entirety of her hate, she ignored herself
Like everyone else did.