Pretentious boy swooning and smitten.
Sewed forever in this mitten.
These lungs of mine fall behind.
As the girls and boys fall in line.
The glistening of moonlit lakes,
Reflects the anonymity of space.
Grace smooth’s the pace of uncontrollable smiles,
Spreading like passion of wildfires.
The crystal blue of moonlit lakes,
Collapsing inwards as I fall.
Hopelessly idle, watching colliding giants stand tall.
This knot will stall until the mind devours it all.
Columns and pillars under siege.
Lace the heart and pretend to breathe,
As the city lights begin to leave.
It smelled like rain, tires rotating at unimaginable speeds. Being sixteen never felt so good, it was 3 in the morning. Gum collapsing and expanding in my mouth as the guys talked, foot prints in the grass began lifting. Destroying our trace. Parents asleep with no knowledge of what we’re doing. It’s time, the van door slid open and we rushed out in the darkness of night. If we were too few we would exhibit fear, but with numbers grows adventure. Sneakers smacked on the pavement and we began to walk. There were eight of us, Three were talking about something that happened in school last week. Two were talking about weed. Another two were silent, the final was looking at the stars. His mind was always elsewhere. We approached the chained fence of the day light workers at the quarry, chains slumped over the looming yet cowardly fence. In perfect unison the eight pounced the fence, sixteen is not an age to keep in or to keep out.