Sunday, June 7, 2015


we’re too young and too eager to be watching girls and boys in gold
bodysuits and lace corsets shaking and stumbling across the stage
and our mothers wouldn’t appreciate our purple lipstick and craft store
rhinestones lighting the way down our necks to our collarbones
that boy who thinks he knows how the universe works compared
you to nicotine when he strapped you down to the pages of his notebook
and sold you for a penny per word, and now he’s here smoking girls
by the pack out by the curb and putting them out against the concrete –
an affair that was high risk but low consequence. you hold a dollar bill
between your teeth, gripping washington by the throat and when the girl in
pasties and a stockings and little else brushes your chin, you tell yourself
you’ve found another person to ruin you. you’re part of an eight-eyed
animal clad in velvet and sickly sweet body spray that still burns
the throat worse than the lukewarm liquor you kept in a water bottle.
we’ve had our share of filthy dogs following us into bathrooms or worse,
tearing deeper holes in our shredded tights, so by now we’ve learned how
to slink back into the night like amorphous shadows you’ll see flickering
beneath street lamps out of the corner of your eye and mistake for haunts.

we’re just kids trying to save our parents another nightmare.

--Serena Devi

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