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Met you in the red room.
Met you in the place
where we shattered our youth.
   I came as soon as I could
in the car, beer on my teeth
and my heart thumping mad.
You had called me up.
Dropped my phone in shock,
maybe laughed in surprise.
   Sixty miles - sixty minutes.
***** the traffic lights,
***** the state of my face,
my bloodshot eyes
yawning open with each blink.
   Inside, into our crimson heaven,
curtains drawn,
glass of milk in your hand.
The room of our eighteens
where we killed crushes,
lost bets and went home
no nearer to being adults.
   You’d put on that black shirt
I’d left one time before.
I’d forgotten all about it.
Yours now. Always yours.
   It was raining.
You gave me a towel,
I breathed in your smell.
No need for words,
I knew what you were saying.
   Took a step closer.
Both of us ready to shatter
whatever this was now.
Written: January 2015.
Explanation: A poem written in my own time, inspired partially by certain shots in the music video to 'Trojans' by the band Atlas Genius, as well as a photo taken during the filming of the song.
I wanted to keep the piece simple, and yet visual. The repetition of certain words is deliberate.
Abby Apr 2020
Cherries blowing up like dark red balloons
and bursting with confetti at house parties.
Sweet sixteenth's and eager eighteens,
underage girls dressed up as barbies.
You see, it's all about numbers.
Like the amount of calories in a cheeseburger
or how many nappies for the baby, soon to outnumber.
Lies and excuses for short term friends
when family know how it's destined to end.
But isn't that the latest trend?
The cost of the newest labels to gain some popularity,
girls these days just need some clarity.
Chasing boys for love, though it's just a quick blow,
see those lips pucker up for a lifeless photo.

— The End —