Nothing is what it used to be
This lesson I know from the sewage of youth
The hours spent deciphering the meaning behind his words
And the years after spent deciphering how meaningless they were

Sucking on the icy tips
Of Chapman’s cherry popsicles
I was seven and he was nine
Those summer days wasted away
Spent wilting over his love letters,
All my petals dead from heartache’s wrath

He was my sun
And I was the foolish marigold who took too much all at once

Then I was seventeen
And he was nineteen
And we went out for ice cream
But he only ever ordered water
And I only ever wanted cherry popsicles

So I rode shotgun
And we shared a cherry lolly
Though it was no longer a river of innocent sugar dripping from our mouths
But instead the bitter blood of our enemies

And the onslaught of my teens
Taught me how to pick the meat off the bones
And how to tolerate the pain
Of his rigid teeth ripping through my flesh
Without a hint of remorse

Nothing is what it used to be
But now I know the difference
Between the candy-coated kisses
And the bloodthirsty grimace
That hides itself within the branches
Of a rosy-tinted lover