The Death of Leaves

I saw myself watching the yellow-red leaves
when they fell from the trees. It was so beautiful
with the neony sun-glow passing through its
membranes as it flickered and fell through the
windy licks of the air’s idling turbulence.

Then I became a leaf, and I saw genocide.
It was frantic and murder in the chilling air
and I saw a fleshy monster grinning an awful
terrible grin and I felt a hate of such unbound
potency that I was stripped away myself.

I blinked back into my own head as my body
hit the ground. I had wanted this—I had
anticipated it with eagerness and thick saliva
breeding behind my teeth. I wanted
so desperately to go home.

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