Young Writers Society

Bug juice - 4.13.20

Jars of acid and pig parts
Line the screened-in patio walls and
Wooden window sills, collecting dust
And dirt like it's a chore. A bloated heart
Takes center stage, so big
It would probably burst if provoked.
I pout and sip my bug juice
On the carpeted concrete floor
Made a bed for me to sleep,
Waiting for that pink heart to pop.
The way you have been loved
Changes everything.

Boys - 4.14.20

the boy outside my window is begging,
begging to be let in. his knuckles are white
as he clings tightly to the edge, feet dangling
three feet above the ground. i will not catch you
if you fall i say. he tumbles. i hear a hollow thud
as he limply piles atop the mountain of bodies
that rot beneath my window.

Jealous love: 4.15.20 - 4.15.20

It’s almost summer now, I miss you.
I started making out with the shower wall
Something sturdy and white
And predictable. I vowed never to talk
To Jack again and answered his call
The next day. I still nod my head
Sarcastically at passing cops
And cry when I drink a lot. Turns out
Alcohol is a depressant, who knew.
I finally got a car. An ‘03 ford focus se, deep blue,
Reeks of marlboros. I’ve started sleeping in
The trunk and pretending it’s my new home.
Tina killed herself, then Grace maybe a week later.
I almost did it the other night. But I got a text from you.
You thought you broke your toes.
You sent a picture, they were black and blue
Weathered like a warhead missile silo.
I still wanted to die, but I killed the thought
Took a bath fully clothed instead.
I met with the band, they threw the towel in.
Nick was still gonna give me weed
But I talked to a guy last night
Whose buddy OD’d and it was a soft spot
so I decided to pass on today’s walk.
Maybe tomorrow. I still wanna get high
Just not in the rain with my ex's hand
in my back pocket. But can you blame me?
I spent the day feeling out my ribcage
And praying for the second coming of christ.
It’s days like this when I wish you were here.
Get a car. Move to Ohio. Come home. I miss u.