You all remember the romantic fickleness of being fifteen, right?
Of course you do.
Everything was
Brand New. (But we faced the world with Bright Eyes)
Once again I’m sealing up my dried-on spilt blue dye
With a kiss between the lines of liquor boxes
Wondering in which book my nose was buried
During the moment that time casually hopped aboard
a timeless train with a clocked-out rate
Its silent departure breeding a fantastical escape.
Only the ironic forlon echo comes much later.
They don’t tell girls who waste their youth away between the lines of pseudonyms
Between the shelves of musty libraries
Every other warm summer day until dusk
Just how old you’ll feel in the reminiscence of inde-alternative and cardboard boxes.