I felt sick someday in September
The kind where it doesn't hurt at all;

now there is strawberry lip balm and nothing will go away
not life, nor song
the deeply pitted sitting down
you knew it all along

what have i become?
three days with a medal in hand
please try not to be blunt.

red is for second and roses
but i am partial to blue days
and cross friends
(at least they talk)

August comes now and it will go,
i should say September is bad luck
and if luck was as real as chance
i could win the lottery with a spare smile
on a fair day

and if my throat is raw from all these berating consequences
i still will long for you.
the "you" with an empty sigh

writers write fiction
but what am i if i write nothing at all?

---

a.a. "if you promise to stay conscious, i will try and do the same" - bright eyes.

no offense, but i have no grammar or spell check right now. correct me away, but i can't promise to listen.