Magazine, website & books written by teens since 1989

rotting benches

By
we don't know how to withdraw
from this realm we subsist
we pluck every last petal
only to find they
love us not.

ignorance is bliss
a fine philosophy indeed
until the day
we scruntinize our funerals
and salute.

outside we all pose on our
rotting benches
pleading they don't fall through
as they freeze and thaw into
soggy complexities.

only when our masquerade is mocked
and our seats of serenity collapse
to the injured soil we
climax and realize
we don't know how to stand.





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