Young Writers Society

i frown as the purple late-night sky moves above,
my tongue moves along the roof of my mouth,
as through searching for some sort of confirmation.

it was the beginning of july and hot pink
smiles were printed along every street corner.

it was the beginning of august and cold black
teeth ground to the gum were welded among the dirt.

now the sky-blue grass is vibrating underneath
and time is scattered beneath our feet.
somehow i have wound up at the door
of glittering rain and confident laughs and i feel out of place.

the tigerskin of ink inside my biro is gathering
and the calender is hung on every wall,
reflecting every day pounded into graves.
it feels like it's pouring with beautiful blonde locks,
blackened with soot and night dust.

only twenty out of one hundred seconds
die, and the rest march into notebooks.
i can only assure myself of ruby, crystal and sapphire.
written: Wednesday 15th September 2004, 10:04pm

Simply amazing. I love the use of colour descriptions. It was great until about this line

and the calender is hung on every wall

and then it just got better.

Great work.