Falling back,
the leaves begin to turn black.
To the times of names written on bathroom stalls
and navigating crowded halls.
Back to the dark side of the moon,
it all rushed back too soon.
Teenaged monsters make comments on every "rack."
Everyone seems to be hopping into the sack.
What if it's their doom?
What about the flowers late to bloom?
Words create pools of blood like after a shark attack.
Everyone is fucking whack.
