poking holes in our pockets while
our teachers are telling us to
put down the pills
and we breathe in the stale air just to fill our lungs with
something
murky sunset stains from our
cigarette smoke and her eyelashes
are painted with tar
our parents are telling us to hand over the drugs
and we exhale sweet smoke and rip holes in our jeans
YOU ARE READING
temporary earth
Poetrypeople watch and whisper about their whisky secrets and virgin tongues so i hold the lighter against my cheek and tell myself that jupiter is home and i am only away for the weekend
