Jung Boulevard was the street that struck my chords.
The first time I saw her walking down the street,
her sisters were at her side.
I had them over for a "house warming" fire that night,
where the fire burnt out in twenty minutes,
and we all just sat in the cold with no words to share.

She knew she loved me in that moment,
and I knew I loved her.

Some nights her and I sat under the stars,
November cold kept us close.
We kept filling the air with empty words,
only begging to hear the lull of each voice.

The night we had *** in a candle lit room,
The time we came across the pack of dogs,
Waiting at the bus stop for you...
pieces of us.

The memory haunts me,
and I hope it haunts you too.

My biggest fear is driving next to motorcycles,
so I hold my breath each time I do.
I come from a city that goes to bed at 11 p.m.
Where poverty never really hit our town very hard.
The street lights flicker on -- to keep everyone safe --
and the glow feels like home.

This is a beautiful place I live,
I've never seen a friend die, or encountered danger.
Only my friends and I causing trouble --
is the only adrenaline rush I've had.
"Bored" is the best way to describe it, if you ask me --
but the adults beg to differ.

I don't know if any other place was meant for me,
white walls block the view of a foreseeable change.
I'll have to leave to see.
Maybe one day.

I ******* hated it.

I've lost hope in my own salvation.

The sun shines every morning.
I dread waking up to watch it most days.
I'd much rather be sleeping.
Admiring the fantasy most associate as dreams.
I feel trapped in my relationship.
I feel trapped in Naples.
Only being nineteen,
I should have went to a university and made something of myself.
Instead, I'm stuck in the same ritual.
Cigarette after cigarette-- counting my days.

The caged bird's whisper, white walls darken as the sun falls.
Carried myself across the hall, to watch another episode of family feud
like a typist ******* a keyboard.

Waking up to saliva on the denim couch
stumbling to my queen sized bed, wishing my sheets were less floral
another night spent
listening to the dusty box fan.

Today, the tress still swayed in the same direction.
Leafy palms, collectively natural shades of green.
The sun set in the same pattern of rise and fall,
yet still "playing god" over the scenery.