The passionate warm tones of the leaves,
clashing with the grey cloud-filled sky.
It is the way they seem to stand out
amongst the melancholy landscape
in a stalemate settlement.

The satisfactory crisp snap of spines
of discarded leaves, abandoned,
doomed to rot on the earth below.
The low grunts and the harsh exclamations
of the steel beasts break the silence.
The sombre weather reflects the dismal
atmosphere of a dead end town.

It’s beautiful outside.

The sharp cold air, the massacre of leaves
and the quick death of a star
marks the demise of the warm seasons,
and the birth of the cold.
As the nights begin to prolong,
and the animals begin to evade the inevitable cold,
That’s when the real animals come out.

The polluted air. Poison to outsider lungs,
A familiarity to the hopeless.
The scents of meats echo
throughout the drunken streets.
Fuelling the amorality and felonious shenanigans
In a clouded forty-eight hours.
Nights that end in tragedy,
and days re-born into the repeating beauty, of a melancholy town.

It’s beautiful outside.