The trees lose their leaves slower than I’m used to.

Gradually, branches that line my walk to class, growing ever barer. 

Like a slow burn,

A sadness creeps in.

I feel as though I’m watching winter’s grasp,

Pick them off one by one.

Another coat of gold and auburn, stolen.

Alas, I am useless. 

Autumn tucks me in.

Winter draws the blinds.

Spring kisses my eyelids, with morning.

Summer pulls me out of bed. 

I cannot control the weather.

I cannot foresee the future.

I cannot make water wetter.

I cannot disguise my humour. 

Why must you control and control and mourn what forbade it? 

Even the leaves as they be, 

Will solicit,

unfounded anxiety,

wouldn’t miss it. 

–– and it’s not even a Wednesday. 

Go do a jumping jack or something.

And call your therapist.

No your friends aren’t pissed.

Ya you look like shit.

And your poems? They suck.