My skin was on fire that night. You tipped the bottle of brown liquor over my head and drenched me in your warm touch. I counted the traffic signs from the back seat of your cherry colored car, while you drove thirty miles over the speed limit, promising to get the both of us to a better place.
We stopped at a gas station six hours later where you held the cashier at gunpoint and stole all of the cotton-candy-flavored bubblegum since you knew they were my favorite.
I blew a bubble large enough for you to live in, but forgot about the spikes you wore on the bottoms of your boots.
Just as we were floating above the stratosphere in my bubblegum space-ship, you took a step back and told me you weren't ready to leave just yet.
You dug your heels into the floor and tore a hole big enough for only you to escape; leaving me floating in space, waiting for you to be ready.
YOU ARE READING
Academy Of American Bullshit
PoetryCollection of poetry, parts of short stories, and the occasional rant written by an artist who is angrier than she'd like to admit.
