Young Love in a Time of Affluenza

Sixteen years old, all my hormones are a mess. I think infatuation’s romance and teenage love’s invincible. I’d sell my soul to calm her devils just on basic principle.

Walk three hours
at one a.m. to save
my damsel in
distress.

Ambulances pass me as I
cross the hospital.

Alta Vista’s close and slightly more hospitable to a brittle boy and his headphones, trekking across expansive voids to call somewhere a home, passing by the bones of red brick dreams we’ll make it this time and give this relationship meaning.

Meaning

my leaving
won’t remain
our status quo,
and the long
roads dividing us
won’t always mean
I walk across
dead cities
alone.

Meaning

I won’t always arrive
and find you sleeping by
the phone,
beautiful with eyes
closed,
brutally so when
awake, the smell of
menthol smoke mixed in with
an absolute lack of faith in
anything real.

You’d numb the same
loneliness I made
my coping mechanism,
because as different as
we are, we are
totally the
same.

It’s funny how
you changed me, almost
blamelessly, from
pretext for growing pains to
a masochist in
waiting.

Meaning,

Once I was just
a budding narcissist until
you inspired me
to bloom.

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7 thoughts on “Young Love in a Time of Affluenza

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