What was warm and green,
cools; to be the brown,
where I; a talking monkey crawls;
on the firmer ground,
wading through the leaves;
that covers up the grey,
whilst smashing soldier conkers
with feet; that blacken way,
then tiny spiral whirligigs
act like helicopters,
but no bombs; are dropped by these;
as I think; what corrupts us,
my deeds; are like tree branches;
so strong; but oh so bare,
unlike them; can’t regrow hope
too short a life; to care,
lighting Jack O’ Lanterns
paints my smile; as you hurt,
habit self-destruction; bleeds my
clots inside your dirt,
apology; in mask is made,
I mean; to be so blank, hence
kill me mighty thunderstorm;
to drain my prideful bank!