Magazine, website & books written by teens since 1989

Amaretto Pipe Tobacco

The imitation silk sky glimmers tonight
I am stuck in this city, surrounded by spite
There are rumors of a long gone blistering light
But I know a myth when I see one

Smoke swirls bring beauty to the stable air
If this is a Kingdom, I'm Calamity's heir
Nearly a decade can't convince me to care
Streets pretty like raw film in sun

My throat burns, my back aches, it's time to go in
But the migraines just seem like my payment for sin
All poison's the same, be it blue eyes or gin
Who dares say that this isn't fun?

Mosquitoes are biting with no plans to stop
This is sure to be one tough outbreak to top
Silently waiting for even one shoe to drop
Wait til the lamps die, then run

The glare in my glasses reflects all my flaws
Ants on the ground start clenching their jaws
I don’t need a reason, but I do need a cause
Three cheers for an air-tight excuse

The trees on the corners are lovers forgotten
When poets survive, the poetry’s rotten
Snow falls in Valrico, white as bleached cotton
So put those salt shakers to use

I wear long sleeves and bracelets to hide my thin wrist
Can’t tell if I’m cancer, or merely a cyst
A storm is en route, you can tell by the mist
Pray these houses can’t take the abuse

Scored an ounce of pure nonsense on Mulrennan Road
Called an old friend just to whisper in code
We talked about ways we could lighten our load
All the pros and cons of a noose

The sun isn’t rising and my space bar is stuck
Attribute all the impure thoughts to bad luck
Give the vampires some fresh blood to suck
Even monsters can be stricken with need

Stolen vodka tastes better than chalk dust and sweat
My mouth is decaying but there’s no need to fret
I may die someday but I won’t go down yet.
Bring on the burdened stampede

Crude archangels taste remarkably sweet
They’re white in the wing, but the reddest of meat
As their bodies are eaten, they sing of defeat
Detest every word and any deed

The damp quiet is disgusting, and so am I
Inventing new ways to watch pestilence fly
I’m sitting in oil, but refusing to fry
A mutilated poppy seed





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