I wrote this poem in October of 2022.
Beneath the fallen leaves lies my footprints
and the footprints of lives unknown
on roads taken with regrets
Beneath the fallen leaves lies the stories from the trash
not picked up-a used condom here, a hair tie there
a letter lost
Beneath the fallen leaves lies everything unsaid
and tears that have fallen
Life on the BPD 
Ah… very moving piece. Lost letters pile up like kindling in my brittle, poet’s heart. But I lit the spark just yesterday, hoping for the flame to burn them to oblivion. – RM, Beyond the Onions.
LikeLiked by 1 person
i get the feeling of all the things that are there that we can’t see though i’d rather not see a used condom or maybe not so bad in that the world might be overpopulated.
LikeLike