In the summer,
I had butterflies tickling my tummy
And bouquets of flowers on my desk
Soaking up the golden light pouring through my window;
Polaroid pictures were sprawled across my journal.

By the fall,
The butterflies were replaced with moths eating me inside
And wilted flower stems were devoid of their soft petals-
It was darker now with only the faintest eerie glow.
My garbage can is overflowing with
Crumpled up pages of poetry and old photographs.

In the winter,
Fresh snow decorated everything visible from my window -
A renaissance at last -
Short lived
Just like the life that resided in that room.

The snow buried the past
And would now bury me.