It's our tongues tingling
in a thick sea of Vlad
It's impromptu road trips
without a destination
It's all of our legs wrapped
around the same gray sheets
It's eight of us in a four seater
looking at each other through blood shot eyes
It's ****** breakfast food that makes our ribs
ache worse than laughing at our misfortune 
It's twenty seven reruns of
ghost adventures at five in the morning  
It's my hair in the palms of their hands
as my head hangs over the toilet
It's all of their voices talking at once
just to greet the tears on their way out
It's every phone call
that has gently eased me to sleep,
it's every makeshift sing along
that has kept me sane,
it's every tired morning
after every dark night
we spent curing each other,
It's every beautiful
friend we found  in this ugly town