This-is-my-Name091

Maybe I should have questioned why your teeth always chattered like fingers clicking on a typewriter, and why your fingernails looked as though faint, blue ink had bled through but who questions anything but hair, makeup, and boys at the age of sixteen and maybe I should have noticed the lunches you spent doing homework, or listening to music, as you gave away your lunch, because you said you were not hungry- and I silently thought more for me and maybe I should have wondered why you walked through the hallways with pockets of graphite under your eyes, as your knees knocked together like keys on a lanyard: clink clink clank and maybe t

i. on the fridge door there is stuck a plan of the apartment and the exits which we should run to in case of fire-- --___--___--___--___--___--___--___-- [i smell burning]   it's my anger [i smell burning]   corrupting the air, you see the inferno turning                            my thoughts to ash, --stop drop and roll away from the flames or let them lash you, gently-- fire fire fire    [liar liar liar] ii. of water and air, daughter and mare, embrace the floods that soak your hair and remember that home is where the heart[h] is which pulses embers through your veins. iii. so i see you've chosen the easy way out and cut the fl

In Tribute to Blacksand459 We gaze in silent reverie While seasons fled the haunted skies: How do you capture eternity? As I peered out from out a copse of trees, Between two wandering souls (you and I) We gaze in silent reverie. Once I knew the words to speak The trifling events of my life: How do you capture eternity? Where a trillion stars sang free, Fiery sparks rise into an Autumn night: We gaze in silent reverie. Broken in humility, I look back now from years gone by: How do you capture eternity? Venture not to the wine-dark sea, Strength and vigor ebbs with the tides. We gaze in silent reverie: How do you capture eternity?

cigarette smoke and alcohol the fumes embedding in the wall cocaine lines in bathroom stalls: our generation, we have it all misguided teens, with dying dreams (poured down the drain by languid veins) the clinking of glasses and racing hearts, we cannot stop what we did start it's all an escape- a sick paradox: we're running from ourselves.