fireworks on the freeway
fireflies in your eyes
****** noses and bruised knees.
crying in the rain,
******* in the backseat,
picking at scabs,
binging and purging and
writing poems on napkins
and on clammy palms.
this is human nature as we know it;
stringy hair and sweaty faces,
dancing and moving in crowds.
street lamps, freeway noise,
stop lights through blurry, tear-filled eyes.
traffic on the streets and in our
hearts and in our heads and in our
beds, messy sheets and limbs tied
together like nooses.
ghosts hanging from ropes,
empty bottles,
****** knuckles,
sleeping in bath tubs.
kissing boys, kissing girls,
and drinking and smoking
and other things
our parents told us not to do.
concrete jungles in the palms
of our hands;
life lines and love lines
that mimic maps and paved roads.
popping pills on public transport,
leather and lace and broken glass,
cigarette smoke spelling words
of rebellion and
tell tales of broken homes.
pretension and potential
and the production of
history.
memories write themselves
when you're young,
and whether we remember them
through narcotics and alcohol
or not, they all mold us into
the complex beings
that each of us are.
youth is now, and
if you close your eyes
for too long,
it'll pass you by.