Full moon rise on the mise-en-scene:
empty sports fields let off steam.
We drink slow, got nowhere to be.
We sulk in the glow of the coke machines.
A semester's worth of grand gestures,
and still you don't notice me.
I was content to grow older.
But she was bolder--
holding onto life like
it could dislocate her shoulder.
I don't know what they told her.
The lines that they sold her
are enshrined and left to time in some
guidance counselor's folder.
Deliver us from our untruth.
A spite fortress of empty rooms.
struggle for junk space
with unknown pleasures.
For all our feeble attempts to widen the breadth
between our nascent selves and certain death,
we just circled the drain. Didn't make a dent.
Already living our lives in past perfect tense.
But skirting the lights on deserted streets,
nightcrawling blind and falling free,
like untethered, heat-seeking teenage lobotomies,
we searched for the bright spot
in a sickening century.
held a promise out to you.
Coming soon: charming ruins.
Make it new,
recast the mold that made us.
We were dying for someone
who wouldn't try to save us.