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it is the third of october
and i am building a castle for us

out of feathers, bird bones,

ocean waves and library book pages.

anything to keep our feet from

touching the ground.

you are sin, he whispers

and his fingers trail cold fire

down my side, scorching flesh

and freezing bone;

brittle pieces of me shatter

as they hit the stained linoleum floor.

don't wake me from this nightmare.

i whisper a nursery rhyme

as i walk down our

autumn path.

kamikaze leaves fall, trailing

fire as they throw themselves from

the branches, down, down,

to cold pavement below.

your words echo in my mind

a constant reminder

that i am sin

but you,

you were

never

god