saltwater taffy.

concepts.

i.

he once told me he couldn't pinpoint if his mothers smile reminded him more of honey or sunshine. i said my mother hadn't smiled in a long time and i couldn't decipher her frown from the withered flowers in her abandoned garden, both were dead inside and out.

ii.

my mother once told me that i dim in winter. the breeze took my consciousness. the inner city was ablaze in many aspects but my heart was still the china town of empty go go's so i let her ponder, let her speak epiphanies into a middle ground. as long as i could stay silent i would prosper in the important regions.

iii.

she was ripe, with wide eyes and ridges indented into her cheekbones. we took the midnight train to neverland. she said she thought we ought to take the green line but i was thinking this was enough.
it had articulated my masterpieces on multiple occasions and steel didn't experience fear so silver could be the voice for both of us. She said red was her favorite color and i told her not only could we paint the walls but we could paint the skyline, draw masterpieces in crimson overlays of anticipation of neverland.

we could introduce ourselves to peter pan when our train arrived and i'm sure she was more beautiful than any wendy he had ever known. but she said she cried when the sun arose, because rain was beautiful and these clouds were fluid yes but not untrustworthy. she said we should relish in the falling tears of God because the sun may dry them away but they were present and they help us remember that everyone has sadness. this inhibition arose within her somewhere between the lost boys and her mothers. she debated which were alcoholics, at least her mothers believed in love, at least they kissed goodnight.

but they never kissed her, never loved her. just empty smiles and broken promises. her heart was the ash tray of every burnt out dream they never succumbed to. "you can't keep chasing ghosts, peter pan is dead and the lost boys are alcoholics in their own right. depraved and thirsty for a taste of any morality, of any realness that exists within humanity, of love. they are slaves to barrenness."