Seasonal Grief.

when the snowstorm blew in they tried to hide the fear on their faces, but the fear was apparent in ever line if you traced it, and they just tried to see with eyes brand new, while white washed under the morning snow fallish dew, and to their disappointment they fell in love with nothing but the cold and frigid air.

And then the first blooms came, they loomed over the earth as positive reinforcement and people excelled with their low self esteem, because everything seemed new even the steam from the sewage drains on park avenue, and through the smog they smelled the roses, and died a horrible death of auto-erotic esphixiation.

Then came the high summer sun that melted the woes, and the grief into puddles, and people swam in polluted waters, where dead fish dried up on wet beaches, where bitches dried up under strenuous heat, and their whorish ways wouldn't allow for re-entry and the hot sand was rough and it scratched at their thighs, and they missed the men who secretly died.

So it's come to this where the leaves are dying, and the children are crying after their stomachs explode with too much sugary goodness, and we are mortified to learn that the razors edge is not where it's suppose to be.  They were only practicing shaving but we throw them in the hospital assuming the worst, and creating it just the same.