How now killer?
I been thinkin' 'bout the old days,
back when we used to smash flat
pennies on the train tracks
That summer,
the cicadas mourning
in the morning fog,
before we knew what knowing was
before the panic
and the pangs of heartbreak
you and I we were
invincible
Sheriff Owens coulda never
caught you in a million years
and the name of my switchblade
was on the tip of every tongue in town
At least,
until the floods came.
We rusted apart
just like the old playground
down on Mill Street
in the pressures
of the rising tide.
a fallow fellowship,
a slow oxidizing death,
a rale
My mama used to say that
no one ever really dies,
not so long as they got
someone who remembers,
but no matter how many times
I whisper 'I love you'
your gravestone just won't say it back.
Find more stories like this one bysigning up!