Adolescent

I'd draw face on my skin— often times, I forget but memories flare into corner delis where I perch on windowsills and dream for things yet there. Sirens repel the best of what comes around and conscious vagabonds wish for miracles— standing streets over inside a red with greens before yellows but seven still: sync'd with movement too brittle to understand. Rhythm blends constant in melodies streaming feathered ears to pavement until I am no longer able to hear the sounds; creeping up slowly in attempt to throw my body onto silence.