sun-baked brown and sunkissed freckles, and ***** white, an olive from overseas.
we traipsed down the road, the never-ending black of concrete.
we yelled. we screamed like there were marching bands in the cages
of our ribs.
we drew in smoke and our instruments played the music
of lit tobacco
“you're a hurricane”
one of the best things ive ever been called
as blackberries slapped our legs,
leaving marks of red and purple,
as we ran through secret forests,
our laughs rising into the sunshine,
filtering through the leaves,
like chiming bells in an empty sky
we started a fire, dancing as earthy smoke
slithered on our skin.
we lit cigarettes in the flames.
as we stumbled,
springs bubbling inside us,
down the brown, mud painted hills,
and cried in wonder as we saw a treasure in the thicket of trees;
a frozen lake staring us straight in the eyes like an
daring us to take a step closer.
then we went rawly, crashing through the undergrowth
like small houses,
headfirst onto the ice,
with all our skin for its one eye to see,
our clothes in a mountain,
and our vulnerable bodies free
on the cold surface of a
secret winter in the middle of a
sun coated town.
as we raced down asphalt mountains,
like goosebumps on the skin of the earth.
we ran like tigers and cougars and cats and
roaring in the afternoon sun
as we embraced the completion,
of a four piece puzzle of our
as throat burning brandy from the womb of my couch,
and burning pain
as we poked holes into our skins,
red tattoos of a flamelike
as blood dripped down through the
cracks of the Balcony,
as we painted the walls with it,
laughing squeezed between every
long drag of our cigarettes,
burning like two new stars in the
tattoos and shapes appearing on our skin
faster than bruises
showing a young girl the ways of our corruption was almost as
fun as learning them
as we sank into reality again,
other half still shaking
hearts beating fast
as i screamed across at a cat eyed girl
i was too shaking to fight like this,
and you are too lovely to cry like that,
and my dear sunshine,
your blue hair is almost as soft
as your voice floating in the
after dusk darkness
assuring that things would be
tired skin, as we lay on my sheets,
and kissed one anothers soft cheeks,
tired skin as we dragged our drugged up
all the way home,
in a careless sack.
maybe “three ****** up girls”
one tall, soft words,
one kneeling on the pavement,
one shaking like an
but thats what makes it like
wouldnt you rather be a tornado of impulsive decisions
raw twilight words
whiskey ridden breath like summer
and icy skin painted with shivers?