I died in the afternoon
thats the end of me,
I thought the South would last forever
that there would always be a home.

Burn it all down now.
Not a soul will speak my name.
I am obsolete and outdated,
too old for 2am and on.

Why do all my outward gains feel so much like losses?

We searched so long for Eden
until the concrete became our blood.
Who are all these children that have covered up my walls?

Was I ever
really
there?

The only city I'll ever know again is the ink under my skin.

The cruelty of the changing season is almost too much for one to bear.

And in this moment I am again reminded
that life is still a tragedy
after
all.