The boy was left outside like the skeletons of a thousand winter trees.
Emotions like leaves now rotten and brown,
troden dirty to the ground,
by the everyday world wet and cold.

Taking away from sanity and comfort,
an island of lothing and paranoia awaits me.
But then complacency can be just as dangerous,
and ripe with discontent.

The memories now faded,
I look at my world with these deep rose glasses that I stole from you,
the content now swilling, offers no rest to me,
and stains my mind,
as it stains the lips of the guilty,
with their own discomfort.

Climbing the walls of this fetted pit in we all dwell,
holding the bones of a million discarded meanings and meetings.

Times now gone reside down with those leaves,
to decompose to eternity,
pain sparks at their rememberance,
four years lived in vain,
for a future grey and plain.