Title Here [sic]

This is the poem I'm most proud of. Again, it was written in college during one of my lowest lows.

It’s that time of year again �"

The time to break out ol’ Lady Platharus and slit my wrists again.

Green mood ring goes to show my rollercoaster has come to a stop;

The season’s ended, I guess.

Somehow all these trips to the mechanic never quite seem to compare to my

Wardrobe, all spangly and new.

It’s an addiction, this obsession for gray for the time in between

Greek Weeks. One rings it in, the other out.

I’m beginning to linger in front of speeding cars again and

Shuffle blindly, head fixed on my chunky sole crunch one �" two �" three �"

Leaves on cement, while those inevitable rottweilers

Appear for their yearly chase around the block

Tearing away the flesh everytime I begin to lag even the

Slightestlittlebit.

Nothing gets fixed anymore, in this

Slow season of What Ifs and If Onlys.

S.A.D. they gave me, along with a polar-ended outlook and a pit of muck beneath my heels.

A fistful of pills was said to counteract it in the simplest of ways.

Yet, I still find myself wishing I could crash-and-burn away from it all

And noticing the gleaming edge on kitchen knives as they

Get their sins washed away with SunLight.