Sunday, 26 February 2023

Communication 170

 summers town

 

the tips of the trees above me

swaying summers breeze 

a hay fever post sneeze

alcoholic tendencies 

the holidays are over

one year older 

we’d skate through the streets

under streetlamp lights

within the seamless moment

everything felt right,

drinking under the slide

in the last gasp of daylight,

we were brothers,

undefined in our purpose

guitar music connected us,

that first sweet smell 

of cheap cigarettes 

you choke as the smoke

hits the back of your throat

but you get use it,

we’d abuse it,

youth as far as the eye

could see, an acid trip

a fake I.D, climbing the wall

of our secondary school,

there was something sinister

about the empty halls

each classroom held a memory 

when the world meant 

the most to me,

we’d carve our names

into the school benches 

our first love flutter

distracting our senses 

the torment and confusion 

of a newfound emotion

rebounding me from

wall to ceiling 

I can’t contain the feeling,

it seems like yesterday

we’d rush out to play

the dinner bell would ring

and we’d start conspiring 

to leave this place forever

and with the school days behind us

I hitched a ride

and never looked back

I don’t want to back track,

and talk about “the good old days”

it was such a strange malaise 

of crass and raw confusion

when our outlook on life

was all but an illusion




 

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