Ripe plum skin crack indentations.
Tear stream rub eye, suck away bloodline.
Somewhere, beneath sheets, a diary
of feels, confesses. Honesty
scratched into paper, love heart ink black.
Kerouac levels of sub-con speak out
through come-up years.
Tears, truer than what they protect
story what tongue doesn’t speak.
Big city, beyond night
they go in search of new experience.
An alley of rot plastic,
blood red light above metal door
soon enough lightning choices.
Memoryless space, unknown in there
youth departures.
No more marble rolls over asphalt
explode string conkers.
Stretch an arm out car window
chop trees from the goodbye land.
A city of smoke and excess
contains too young actions
of the unwilling to be alone.
It seems to me the person is where they expected but the result is not what they were wanting.
Excellent piece