No Time Left To Dry

Autumn here's again.

No red, no brown,

Or gold to behold,

My mind plays tricks

And I suffer the loses,

For not staying true.

Swaying, so unlike myself.

My mind is heavy

With the thoughts of running,

The idea of finally growing,

Blooming and leaving my home.

My future, I fear,

So unknowing and near,

So soon will I be alone.

Remember the days,

So lost in my ways,

I would lose myself,

But can't no more

For I must stop my swaying,

And pull against the wind's playful breath

For the time has come to stand my ground

And no longer be the air around.

I feel my heart, encased.

The pump is drying from its vase.

The water warm, not cool or fresh,

Just murky, sometimes mud.

I see from a window's glare,

The sun shines off the autumn trees,

And still my mind draws unclear.

Remember the days,

When the nights were praised

And I could lie on the corner street,

And not wait for the car to chase me?

Lying there, I'd see the stars,

How long ago were we just there?

Too long ago, fair?

My mind unravels no clues tonight,

And again I lay in bed, awake,

Sleep, no longer on my bedside

The cars, running over my face,

There is no time left, I cease.