Burning Doe

The leaves have this curl to them;
Racing past, golden hues like wisps of a horse tail not yet fenced in
No more stiffening of this black substance
This is more beautiful than pleasure I read
One by one they fall, taking the last year with them
Away from me
Candy apple red; I want my lips to match
But I can only see the glow around me
Shedding its skin
And full like everything else
It helps me molt then retreat
I’m so fucking sick of bеing humyn