Sometimes, when I feel a pang inside, a gnawing hunger for company,

My mind will resort back into the fog, to you,

The memories tell me, it wasn’t completely terrible,

I think of humid holes furrowing beneath highways,

Calloused fingers, itching near my palm,

Laughs, dry and scratchy, pitched the fervor of puberty,

In rapid succession, feelings bloom and wither away to die, pain hits a cord then is succumbed by relief,

Then fear,

Will I ever be infatuated again?

Will I ever be recklessly stupid, disgustingly obsessive to the point where I find my self being consumed with all of my thoughts and biased opinions?

Every night choking on my own rage and fears uneasily digested,

And every morning reveling in my blessing and entanglement?

I smell the sent of excitement that comes in puckered lemon, and warm syrup breath,

Eyelashes stark white in the iridescent spotlight of the harrowing moon, closing briefly,

I blink and arose my mind from the comfortable wanderings of the past, because it is over now,

Stowed away in a box of first steps and lukewarm memories to be examined at a later date when maybe I can laugh,

I am a sixteen year old nightmare wondering if I feel these feelings does that consider them real,

Can I rely on my own interpretation or is my brain one that is fooled by the flimsy game of teenage heartbreak,

Rebellion intermingling with an adventure of the consciousness.