When I was little
I played with plastic toy knives
and dragged them across
my brother's throat
saying, "You're dead!
You're dead! You're dead!
I swear, you're dead!"
And we pretended
kool-aid was blood,
letting it drip down
my chin and neck,
down my chest,
past my pec.
I wrecked my bike
and ran for days.
I was stung by bees and swore,
"Nothing could hurt more
than this."
And when I turned twelve,
I learned how to ******* to dreams.
The grip on my skateboard
wouldn't let go of me.
I ollied over plastic bags
and stared at lottery tickets
sleeping in the garbage.
She and I played with fireworks
faster than shooting stars.
We waded in the lake,
being a cliche.
She and I rolled on the grass, naked.
I don't know where she is, now.
I don't know.