Are You Listening
blue sweater frayed at the neck, leapard print, chipped
nail polish, brown hair dye covering up the bleached-blond,
pierced eyebrow with the screw-on balls missing, converse
cracked and full of holes, leftover makeup from the night
before, smudgy black eyes.
they said, "you look drained."
i said, "fuck off" and then i felt bad.
they shoved a metal rod up his nose, stepped on his chest
for more leverage, broke it again. now he's lying on the
couch with a bitch of a migraine, holding an ice pack to
his warped face. two black eyes beats my bloody lip, even
though it was bruised for two weeks and i can still feel
the lump where it was swollen. fight club on the beach at
night in summer, getting sand in our clothes and in our
hair but we could care less. i ran barefoot down the shore
until they couldn't see me. i could still hear their
laughing voices, i sat down and i listened. it was just us
that night, us and the moon and the beach. we smelled like
beer and the ocean, cigarette smoke and tequila. we
breathed freedom. we screamed friendship, and loyalty. we
tore the rest of the world to shreds.