I'm forgetting all the street signs, all the shortcuts I used to take to purge myself of the hatred I feel when I'm awake. Erase me. Erase it all. I'd gladly give away these vibrant hues of blue and gold if I could only put down this cross and rest these tired bones. The gentle quiet after the first snow turns to a dark depressing winter. I'm slowly dying just like these trees. My branches ache under the weight. You can keep all recollection. I've become that old man in the Lois Lowry book. The one with the desolate eyes fixated on the ground. All these disappointments, they're taking their toll. There's a reason I can't look anyone in the eyes anymore. There's a reason I can't look at myself in the mirror anymore. There's a reason I can't look at you. There's a reason that I can't.
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