coffee grounds

its autumn now, leaves falling to the earth

creating the next name for a season,

its fall,

falling.

…

an angel, unnamed.

ink dipped feathers shedding from the bubbles

that formed when you fell.

falling.

i’ve always wondered what it’d be like to fall,

to plummet.

…

air resistance resists the death of a human mind.

a mind already dead. dying. 

rot creeping up the lines.

falling.

bedtime at 8:30, it becomes 9

dont tell.

the kitchen is dirty.

dont tell.

the dog is still outside.

dont-

dont lie to her.

ive already torn that apart.

repetition

of the same mistakes

now ive buried my brain in the back yard

in a jar.

sealed with my secrets,

decomposing like coffee grounds.

…

theres still a song stuck in the throat 

of my skeleton.

decaying on war ground.

lost.

moral of the story: nothing good comes from falling.