it may be the sun that always swollows down my broken pride or the porch where the souls of summer '89 sit side by side, reviving the trauma of breathing in the fumes that the last victims left for them to learn from.
it may be the fact that i'm eating away whatever pain sits in the dark soil of the emerald grass that i lay in until god takes me, it may be the guilt that rises and suffocates my throat that cries for help because the blades aren't doing me any good.
DONT TAKE
WHAT IS NOT
GIVEN.
i'm made of the bruised stars and hollow créme that use to rest on the small of my stomach that craved for those stars to be more than just the words i ate up until i didn't know what emptiness was. please love me.
damn these summer nights that take away whatever youth i have left in this rotting body. do i exaggerate the fact that we're all dying on the inside? we grow until we see nothing but our younger self in the mirror where those fresh roses are molding and you realize your time is up.
please love until you can't take the words from her and you break her down with your own lips. love even if you don't know what love is. love as if its the only thing that you've ever been taught and its the only thing you can remember to do as he takes you away and memeorizes the words: i love you. i crave to live in this dying state.
YOU
CAN(NOT)
LIVE FOR
EVER.
YOU ARE READING
JUNIE.
Poetrythese days of youth grow shorter, while my lips are bleeding for relief. [3/3: "A COLLECTION OF: ODES TO YOUTH"]
