i see it in my head
but it's not quite clear

it's the color of fall
a crimson red leaf
that falls as slow as a thick stream of blood
golden crunchers
like rusty, cheap, discarded jewelry
that i go out of my way to step on
red and gold and peach-infused
they're all the other sides of green

there's a rock
the color of emptiness
the feeling that nothing's tangible
that all is nothing-
only gray.

i remember

i see her.

she sat on that rock.

with the leaves behind her.

and i took her picture.

she is a crimson red leaf
with thick streams of blood
traveling, trickling, trailing down her face
she is a golden cruncher
(something so valuable, so precious- yet cast away)
discarded, rusty
that we all go out of our way to

[step on.]
(what'd she do to deserve it?)

she's always a shade of green.

she is a rock (strong -supposedly-)

only gray.

i come to realize

she was not the rock.
she is not the rock.
she sat upon it.
she was never the leaves.
they were nothing more than her
{background curtain}
they were not her.
they are not her;
(only her empty companions)

only gray
and always green