Grey November

hollow wails of the wind

the trees whimper,

as the wind injures them.

it cracks the branches in half

and the leaves slowly wither away.

the streets, barren and cold

no one around, the lost souls roam.

‘autumn’s here’, says a voice down the road

numb fingers,

she rubs them against her bare warm palm.

cracked white lips

and a mere beating heart

she glances at the reflection of the moon,

too beautifully blinding to look at directly.

the cuts on her thighs,

fading scars on her hands that lie.

perhaps, she too was the moon

in her past life

flicking with the strands of grass,

as she sits under the burning stars

northern lights in the sky’s ablaze

the failing heart promised itself, it won’t fade away

many moons later,

after the cuts on her thighs fade

and she’s no longer afraid.

she sits by the lake,

glancing at the moon

wondering how

she made it past multiple noons

– Aaliya