The music at the party is pumping.
All the teenagers are     jumping.
But I only hear  my  heart  thumping.
Alone   on the sofa and   slumping.
Stewing in   solitude,   a dumpling.
Starting to   disintegrate,   crumbling.
I feel a disturbance,   a rumbling.
I reach for my phone, I'm   fumbling,
For a text, a call,        something,
Anything to enhance   the    numbing.
I rise from my perch,  stumbling  .
I  collidewithsomepeople, they're grumbling.
Now I'm    falling  out  the  door,   tumbling.

People are laughing, tutting frowning.
They see me on the ground, but I'm
                                                             ­   drowning.

Tonight, we live like kings:
Hijack the prison and break out our dreams;
Kick off our shoes and rip our jeans;
Sing until our lungs burst at the seams.
Tonight, we are wild and free:
We’ll climb up skyscrapers and then ride the breeze
With our broken wings.
Tomorrow we’ll be damaged teens,
But tonight, we live like kings.

How easily we let ourselves believe we can put our faith into anyone, or anything, besides ourselves,
Without fear of falling into the demise we’ve created,
Even though the possibility of opening our hearts is the one thing that can break our walls.
We create barriers to shield ourselves, and our hearts, from crumbling and turning into our mothers, and that sad lady down the street.
The truth is, we are so ******* terrified of the weakness love brings,
That we'd rather suffer alone,
Stay empty, but stay unbroken.
In the solace of our own minds we become a butterfly,
Only we don't know how to fly,
Too scared to take the first leap.
Do we risk shattering everything?
So easily we make excuses and cower instead of fall,
Because our heart is our most guarded possession of all.

And There Were Three
Late mark Griffon engine Spitfire is sliced apart by German gunfire. Defeat! Spit pilot takes to the silk and bails. He saw his executioner executed. Swift justice handed out by a Tempest. No one said the Salamander was in service.

Volksjager peoples’ fighter, for everyone but only flown by the best, killed a Spitfire before  a Tempest killed him. Did the **** pilot perish? Unlike the Spit pilot? Eyewitness to his own shoot down. Advanced air war 1945, Armageddon beckons.

Enough! Time for a coffee and some biscuits, teen combat pilot dreams aside. I close my book and go to make a brew. No decaf for me. Need my caffeine before I battle the Luftwaffe in turbulent European skies. Shame I’ve no beer!

Never mind about being there, seeing history made. German jet genesis, almost mastering state of the art piston engine fighters. Back to my book. At 17 my mates were out chasing girls, I was in the skies.

It's a shame that we aren't soul mates,
because we used to be.
But now we're one-seventeenth of a whole teenager;
hormonal,
angry,
depressed.
But all I can say is,
when you think I'm overbearing,
instead,
think of how heavy it is to carry
a whole friendship on one back;
it's dead, lulling weight
digging into your spine,
slowing you down,
hoping you feel better
when it tells you, drunk,
how much you're worth.

I can't do this alone,
I need you to tell me sober that you love me,
or leave my life for a better one.

I can't help but to fall for you
I can't stand not seeing you,
Even for a second
I do know that it is getting unhealthy
But never do I know you will react the way you are

I need to move on
I need to forget you
I need to erase every memory of you
I do know all of those
But never do I know I have to do that this fast

So what I need—
What I do really need to forget you—
Is to forget myself itself.

There is this girl
The girl who is genius as hell
The girl who is humble
The girl who thinks low about herself
The girl who forgets how it feels to fall

There is this boy
The boy who is way too genius
The boy who is humble
The boy who thinks low about himself in front of her
The boy who forbids himself from falling

There are this two persons
Two persons who hide behind their bricked walls
Two persons who put their ego up as defense,
Defense from falling
Falling deeper, deeper, and deeper
Into each other.

"What are you afraid of?" I ask,
Is the thought of me and you tangled together
Limb by limb, so repulsive to you
That you'd rather be sitting
Out in the cold, snow covered streets
Haunted by the thought,
"What could have been"
"We're wasting time," I breathe
Into your collarbone that is usually heaving with a sigh.
You shake your head and respond,
No.
Is it me that you are afraid of?
Does my intensity for love and even for you, keep you awake?
Tell me, my darling, is it me?
I know I burn houses with these hands
And break windows with my screams.
I am intense, and passionate, and ******* crazy.
But I am not scared.
I am not scared to grip your cheeks
And plunge myself into your lips, into your body.
I am not afraid of the moment before we ****
That your body convulses with passion and your extremities stretch toward my very being.
You are a wildfire I never want to be put out.
You burn me, time and time again
But I am the oxygen that keeps your flames thriving
And you are the fire that keeps my heart warm.
"What are you afraid of?" I ask,
He looks at me with the stars in his eyes and looks down,
"Us".
His body creases with pain
And in that moment I know,
I know that even though we are the fire,
Maybe, just maybe, I am engulfing him in my flames.