Magazine, website & books written by teens since 1989

Dec 2nd This work is considered exceptional by our editorial staff.

Custom User Avatar
More by this author
You don’t write about cigarettes or the sky you saw driving home from work
You just can’t. You slip me a note about how the washing machine rattles and reminds me of a song I showed you
I bite the inside of my cheek til it bleeds and kiss the outside of yours til it does the same
Your stained-glass eyes tell me it’s all in my head and I bury my face in your neck
I came home and ate an orange without peeling it and stated at my reflection
Sweet and bitter simultaneously, I swallowed and sighed




Post a Comment

Be the first to comment on this article!




Site Feedback