Falling

So it burns. The soft end of your heart. Lit up bright with a flame embedded deep. All orange and freckled with the ashes that fall off as by itself it is consumed.

So it burns. Hasn't it always. And the more you try to drown it the more intense the heat. That every method you use to suppress ultimately strengthens it grip on you.

Not a victim. Just unsure what weapon you should choose. Not a criminal. Just torn between the crime and the justice.

I guess it's easy to say we reap what we sow. But every seed we cultivate is not planted by us. And once those roots sprout they're hard to dig up.

I suppose we must amend on our own no matter what the excuse for might be. That's not the dilemna. It's finding a reason to that leaves me lost.

Every leaf from the highest to the lowest. They all must fall come autumn. But some will always fall farther.