October

I cut open a gaping hole,

it reveals all the things I must remove.

To dig deep, scraping, cutting,

digging into the impurities.

Taking time, deep inside my mind.

I carve out how I see myself,

with moons and stars, I follow the night.

Oak trees, rooted firmly,

disconnected, old and withered.

And as I finish my pumpkin,

I am reminded that it's the end of October. Time is moving too fast.