Autumn

My heart is frozen
over.
Icycles
like frigid fingers,
stiff and swollen,
solidify around the edges
of the
torpid muscles in
my body.
Autumn bites my bare skin, leaving
tiny puncture marks.
Chills
like blood
sluice through my veins.

Gelid rain
accosts the sky
beating it to a
matte pulp.
The sun is obscured,
hiding itself in
trepidation;
all ardor
is extinguished.

Leaves like fallen soldiers
are strewn
across the wet black roads.
Piles of them lay
as funerary monuments.