Leave me
Withering like grass in the cold of autumn air
You see me but you do not notice me
Leave me
Covered in snow and forget about my colors
You loved me but you don’t love me anymore
Leave me
Dead and dirty in the mud of a new spring
You understand that I am there but you trample on me
Leave me
As I was before you ripped me from my roots
You ran through the sunny days and used me as a carpet for your feet
Leave me
Once more as I begin my cycle of self destruction
You gave up pretending
About the Creator
Broken Walls
I don't really know what I'm doing; I'm starting to think that maybe that's okay.
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The Blue Ridge Stalker
Tom had left the Ford down the way, its spark plugs finally exhausted and no mechanics for a dozen miles back through the foothills to Strossburg. No matter, he had worn his boots—almost as if he planned for this to happen. The puzzle he sought to solve emanated from the woods clinging to the slopes above; the valley behind held no mysteries.
By Stephen A. Roddewig5 days ago in Fiction
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