I met a man called July,
his eyes were decaying apples,
his fingernails drooped along the floor.
His secrets lead to his deepest trunk,
by the midnight sky his business were no longer private.

He touched the gazing sky,
clouds evaporated as planes went by
he was sobbing now since he had no one to play with.
His summer skin wasn’t ready for the winter.

When the winter went by there was no sign of him,
all that was left were crumbs of his flaky skin.

His coat was still hanging on the hanger,
rips and tears covered the jacket.