we sit amidst a haze
of marijuana smoke,
chasing esoteric ghosts
on the front-porch
of your abuela's house.
the rest of the city is asleep,
but these streets still remind me
of painful memories
i thought i'd left buried
with the ashes of the bridges
i'd burned and friendships
i'd left in tatters.

2:00am comes and goes
as you pack another bowl
and we shoot the ****
and reminisce
about the old days—
back when we were naive
and still believed in god.
how we'd sneak
through rich,
white kids' lawns
and sit at the docks,
bare feet spinning
in the lukewarm pond
as we traced the Big Dipper,
contemplating the boundless.

now we make reverse-suicide-pacts
and promise not to **** ourselves,
if only for those we'd leave behind.
we share a laugh.
there's not much else to do.
contrary to popular belief,
dawn may bring a new day,
but things won't suddenly be o.k.
and we're learning how to live
despite that fact.