October

That time of year again,

Where food consumes the streets.

No myth is my strain,

To not digest the sweets.

 

Wicked is my mind,

I wish to be a skeleton, or better yet �" a ghost.

I’m aware that I am blind,

And trapped �" by my candy shell, the most.

 

The pumpkin watches in fear,

As I devour my treats.

To keep them down would be queer,

So my heart adds another beat.