Dust in tall grass not able to see
This season is dry and dead and quiet it seems, like distorted echoes.
Pretty empty gift boxes
Glowing with glitter filled with crisp boring winds
Like a chalkboard eraser to my eyes, dry.
Accuracy from my feelings are at an all time low
Lies breach holes to spread and contaminate areas thought safe, but no
I seem to be living in mud
Let a Carolina rain wash silly assumptions from me.