Summer Days

March 21, 2008
By Phoebe Driscoll, Pacific Palisades, CA

Summer days of nicotine,
Breathe in deep, but don’t be seen.
Smoky eyes and burning throats,
We’re the castles, we need no moats.

Dark rooms sliced with rays of sun.
We’ve got no idea that life had just begun.
Twelve years of age, but feeling old.
It’s been a while since we did as we’re told.

Summer days of cut-off jeans,
Now all that’s left are broken dreams.
If I ever cried, I never let on,
Shaken up inside, but I had to be strong.

Three jaded kids without a cause,
I still got scared by The Wizard of Oz.
My bitter heart—there was no chance
I left my house without a second glance.

Summer days of sticks and stones,
We used them both to break their bones.
Within three months, I’d lost myself.
Forgotten baseball cards on a dusty shelf.

Ice-cold knife on burning skin,
It should’ve been hard; she was kin.
A single tear, mixed with her blood,
The dirt around us soon was mud.

Summer days of tortured thought,
I secretly hoped that I’d get caught.
A dizzying wave of memories,
Childhood lost in the summer breeze.


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