It was another year wasted in your suburban Arcadia,
Your second year in high school and you had spent it pursuing your first.
Mary had a bohemian finesse that made your heart race, your breath catch,
And the corners of your mouth dry like a desolate lake when you inhaled her scent.
You were curious, and enticed by her whimsy you dared to try her out.
Relieved by your friends’ advice, her reputation was true.
She ignited your wildest dreams, and kept you howling with laughter.
Though you swore to everyone that you would not get attached, you did.
Falling for the excitement of first love you were completely enthralled by her.
But when you would part the façade disappeared, and coming back down from Mary was difficult.
Your head now clouded with paranoia, your eyes reddened by your parting when you discovered her wonder had been the fascination of many school boys.
The entice of her had dwindled, depression had developed, and you were quick to find your next high.

It was another year wasted in your suburban Arcadia,
Your senior year in high school and you had spent it defying your youth.
Molly was a dancer, who dwelled in night clubs,
A striking beauty with round features who moved with a feverish passion that reminded you of ex.
On her dance floor she made you sweat, you fought to keep with her pace,
And it left you lightheaded every time threating to collapse.
But you were brave, and tempted by her glamour you dared to try her out.
Cautioned by your friends’ advice, her reputation was true.
Her love was euphoric which elevated your senses, taking you to an all-time high.
Your brain infested with thoughts of her, which allowed your imagination to run wild, and blurred the lines between fantasy and reality.
Though she had once been beautiful, at night, she had been possessed by other men.
The music had slowed, the seductiveness had vanished,
But fighting the withdrawal you searched for a new flame.

It was another year wasted in your suburban Arcadia,
And you had been working odd jobs, because here, you had become too common.
Abandoning the burden adolescence, you were in search of a real woman.
Angie was a harlot who made your speech quicken, your pupils flare,
And the blood in your veins course with an exhilarant rush which exhausted your heart.
You were weak, and victim to her spell you dared to try her out.
Ignoring your friends’ advice, her reputation was true.
Loving her made you irritable.
She had kept your nose wide open.
And addicted, your insecurities fed the obsession and your old habits die hard.
She had loved men freely,
But when you fought to leave, her absence plummeted you to a new low.
So every night you wonder the streets calling out for her,
Hoping the feel of a woman will satisfy your idle hands.