riverwalk, trees aflame
shake our sleeping dreams awake
we give our money to the beds
and sleep together on the banks
as the dials turn
as the calendar burns
thought of September as a place
where nothing is ever real -
where i traced the creases of your face
between sips of Camomile and fits of grace
and though i never spoke it's name
there's irony in fall blossoming
between the trash and broken glass
i watch the dying embers of your cigarette
(i wished so bad to be one you hadn't stubbed out yet)
it burned a bitter orange
but i don't remember if it caught on
if the trees were this color before

now I know you like these things.
Quote by Arthur Curry
it's official, vintage x metal is the saving grace of this board and/or the antichrist

e-married to
& alaskan_ninja