SUMMER,
EVERY LESSON LEARNED IS LIKE THE SWING OF A HAMMER, BREAKING THROUGH THE HORSE HAIR PLASTER BETWEEN THE WOODEN FRAMES LIKE A STABBING KNIFE THROUGH A RIB CAGE.
I’D RATHER FEEL THE PIERCE OF THAT SHANK THAN FACE THE TRUTH OF EXPERIENCE.
THE YELLOW PISS LIGHT OF CITY STREET LIGHTS, WIPING THE SWEAT FROM MY FOREHEAD WHILE A FRIEND TELLS ME OF HIS MOST RECENT DEATH. HE JUMPED FROM A CLIFF HOLDING HER HAND, ASSUMING THERE WAS A PROMISE THAT SHE WOULD NOT LET GO.
I MOURN HIS LOSS, AS I CELEBRATE HIS REBIRTH.
THE HEAT SOAKS OUT THE DEMONS AND THE HAZY SKY LINE GLIMMERS AS THE SMILING FACES SHUFFLE PAST US ON THE STREET, AND WE GULP INSTEAD OF SWALLOW; HOLDING BACK THE TEARS AS WE TRY TO BE WHATEVER IT IS THAT MAKES US OURSELVES.
BOYS DON’T CRY, BUT MEN DO.
