and my fingers itch with want to just touch, just a small tap. i want.
and i say something ugly and you crinkle your nose in distaste and my heart skips a beat because that, that's what i want.
you grin, ugly and mangled-
liar.
i think you’re pretty. i think you’re the moon and the stars and i want to kiss your breath away but i cant.
let's go home, i say.
Jan 19, 2021
Jan 19, 2021 at 11:03 AM UTC
and if this parking lot is the sole spectator of my heart attack,
i’m okay with it.
and this feels like something siken would wax poetic about,
you’re sitting in a ****** sedan with broken windows with a pretty girl in a parking lot-
but again and again, i’ll beat him to it.
i’ll wax poetics about you until your shoes are shiny and your ring is gleaming.
for once in my sixteen years of life, i love you becomes a real, tangible thing i can touch.
for once in my sixteen years of life, ten years from now doesn't matter, because twenty-six will not feel like this.
and if you’ll throw away this memory in three months, i’ll pick it up and store it in a glass jar next to my bed.
because at sixteen, all you are is real.
Jan 19, 2021
Jan 19, 2021 at 11:03 AM UTC
siken’s never mentioned this.
this dread that climbs up my throat and makes you repulsive to see.
i’m going to scratch my eyes out.
and you’re going to watch, bloodied fingernails and broken corneas.
just for today, the grass whispers.
only for today,
the moon’s for you to want.
i wouldn’t hate anything more.
Jan 19, 2021
Jan 19, 2021 at 10:41 AM UTC