Alone, a sole figure

lingering in the blackness. Endlessly journeying

nowhere. Followed into the night,

a gust; a whistle building to a howl.

There is a rustling from deep within,

down in the undergrowth. Fingernails

clawing at the dirt trying to pull their way out.


Boys don’t cry

because crying shows weakness.

Boys don’t cry

because boys are supposed to have no weakness.

Boys don’t cry

because crying is for pussies.

Boys don’t cry

because crying makes you less of a man.

Boys can’t cry.

They’re not supposed to be sensitive.

Boys can’t cry.


As the long summer draws to a close,

the tired sun lies low in the sky

adorning the clouds with hues of orange and rose.

Autumn brings with it a gentle mist; breathed out like a sigh.

A cold sheet floating over the hills.

Wisps weave silvery white between dense treetops,


It’s dull black sheen is somewhat enticing:

I know what is yet to come.

From the first touch of the tongue

it’s hardened exterior begins to melt

and at once the sickly and intense aroma seeps out,

enveloping the taste-buds,

intensifying with every slight twist of the tongue.


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