素朴

Talia - 18yo - NZ ☀

Draft 1

Radiohead stereotypes swinging from wine to wine
His fingers tangled in mine by the time the shed has closed down our bodies wrap around each other. Seeking clarity for all the background sounds they are smothered, muffled, drowned out by layers of tin its his heart reaching mine through layers of skin that i hear… And still, sporadic voices - remnants of vague, ugly choices with a hint of sin and beer.
He sleeps next to me, his sharp rhythm of breath keeping me alive for that noise, wanting to get up eager to scope the scene but each of his inhales has me…poised. Positioned, to surpress my inquisition, nothing is happening for if i move, there goes his heart. All i can do at this moment is trust in the possibility that this is not art. And all is good, sick of the growls and scared of this hood. Keen to go home hes the only reason why im here and he, straightened his hair playing not truth or dare just the game. And his is on point. My eyes getting heavy but id rather have a joint, a bottle, a can, a smoke, anything. Though its just him and me i still long for revelry but the buzz has shut down and its only half three. Say my farewell to this sick flow of words its not a poem that you hear but the truth you just heard.