Outside my window’s blinded square glass,
Striated sunsets painted the grass.
As I walked into autumn’s gold hue,
Leaves gave the ground a kaleidoscope view.
And as branches emptied I knew
You didn’t love me anymore.
The air breathes an early October chill,
Currents forbidding my limbs to feel.
In theme with the season, I am a ghost,
But it stands to reason that my smile is smoke.
And on this realization I choke:
You never loved me at all.