June 7, 2010

Falling From the Attic

There are stitches on your forehead and bandages on your knees,
I taste blood every time I think of our summers shared.
Close my eyes, and see you instead of red.

You've fallen from the attic stairs,
You raced against yourself to see who'd win.
Who could hit the floor first, but you lost.

A defeat over yourself which you had failed to control.
The race was finished, it ended in pools of liquid roses.
It's autumn now, you've gone away with yourself.