this little fight

teenagers

cigarette smoke and driving twenty over the speed limit. dark rooms and lighters. musty, smelly air and lights down low. i fantasize being a teenager like a child does having a pony. i fantasize the air musty and smelly and stupid and i crave cigarette smoke and fast driving. i crave the excitement of doing wrong, the excitement of repercussions. i want so badly to be warm and sweaty and to cool down via windows down, music blasting. summer clouds and pools dance in my dreams as i pass out during my history class, i wake up and wish i was anywhere but here. i wish for cigarette smoke and musty, smelly air, the scene of a person i love so much that i love the repercussions of going to see them. that i love their music taste which i barely listen to because im halfway out the window and i still can't hear the music even though it's turned up nearly all the way. i want so badly to fit the stereotype with strange and concerning perfection. those are just dreams, though, from which i always wake from, tremble from, and turn my mind away from.