Issac Harding

June 20, 2012
By , Broomfield, CO
Four ice cold walls envelop your skin,
Not your flesh because you are not there
You’re out building sand castles in fantasies
Slaying dragons over cotton clouds
Being frosted flakes on Sunday mornings.
When bitter reality rises you move through
Bodies, blonde hair, back packs and
Abercrombie Zombies,
Hollister got this school looking like a holocaust
Home of the American Eagles
But the logos and stench cannot
Mask the smell of rotting flesh
The corpses of kids pushed in the hallway,
Day in and day out,
Doubt you heard the famine thirst screams,
The emptiness, the pleads
It cannot mask the smell of mildewing
Vomit erupting from the girl in the bathroom
Wanting to be wanted
Who feels like taking her nails and clawing her flesh to show you she is still human inside
Earthquake trembling, flash flood tears
You cannot cover the smell with crescent smiles and perfumed pep-rallies
Tallies of the kids who’ve killed themselves fill in the sky.
And their tears are the stars that bathe on them
Resting between popularity and sincerity nestles the greenest eyed monster you’ve ever seen
Gnashing teeth and bellowing screams
Seems like life has become a lot more carnivorous,
Saliva sputtering and shiftless
Some say that Sticks and stones may break bones
But now words are the ropes hung me
Ask the family of the black boy who went to BHMS
People don’t even know his name, careless… check
This poem is love
It’s for anyone who knows the selfish silence before a suicide
For everyone whose cries vibrate the ribs like 8.0 Earthquakes
To be alone and feel your heart beat like a suicide bomber.
This poem is for you to play the parachute game with
It will wrap you around like all the arms that didn’t,
it will pull you away from this black oil earth
and will eject, launch you into the sky of simplicity
until all you know is soggy cereal and Sunday mornings.

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