Last few days of window down, hair blowing, music playing, darkness entreats earlier upon your worldview, soon it'll be bundle up and suffer the dry chill, no more breeze in you hair or wind in your face, except to remind you of its putrid existence, or perhaps yours.
A few nights of nightmares, disturbing ends, humans crushed into a pulp on the assembly line, blood and guts sprayed every which way.
You told your sister everything that made you sad one day, as you sat there with her, spilling everything out, words barely escaping a sparse tongue, she listened attentively. Then you woke up, the dream was over, and everything you said was true but nobody heard it except your subconscious.
The lawn hasn't been mowed in a month, you're waiting for the mean neighbors to complain to the township, perhaps they won't, you like the way the grass waves at you in the breeze, as if saying goodbye, for it will soon be covered with snow.
Leaves are starting to change colours, removing green from the contours of the land, dotting the eye line with reds and yellows and oranges, not unlike the sunsets that will soon disappear for months on end beneath the gray skies of winter, clouds and clouds and endless clouds. Your home state has the 2nd highest incidence of seasonal affective disorder.
If it's true that only the good die young, doesn't that explain why you are here?
The deck needs replacing, it's falling apart. The car needs replacing, it's falling apart. The phone needs replacing, it's falling apart. The sidewalk needs replacing, it's falling apart. The plant needs replacing, it's falling apart. Your life needs replacing, it's falling apart.
Reach out to different people once a week, never hear back, ask someone how they're doing, never hear back, relegate yourself to your room, talk to yourself instead.
In the morning darkness you try to keep lighting to a bare minimum, wouldn't want to convince yourself that you're supposed to be awake, the exhaust fan in the bathroom screams at you as you take your shower, there is dust clumped in it, a stink bug - they're everywhere - is lying dead on the window sill, you've had the house sprayed twice for them to no avail, invasive species are a pest, quite literally in this case.
It's another Monday and you'll likely have thousands more.