You’re in love with the girl who’s always the last one left at the party.
She’s dangling from the ceiling by an orange extension cord
in a broom closet.
The purple bruises on her neck look like hickeys you dreamt you left.
Actually she’s not in the broom closet.
Actually she’s not hung like a broken chandelier in a haunted house.
Actually she’s standing in the foyer talking to a beautiful boy with inconsolable
blue eyes
but the bruises are there and they’re all his fucking fault.
You wander through the kitchen.
You know everyone and collectively you’re in love.
You smoke weed on the porch and no one can stop you
and you’re banging on your chest with your fists
and your parents have been asleep for 5 years
and they first nodded off at 2 pm on a Sunday
and
No.
No.
Hey.
No.
That will never be you.
You’re playing football in your front yard and the leaves are dust in your lungs
that tug your chest back to the warmth of your bedroom like a riptide.
You’re in your car and it’s after the ice cream and the walk around the high school
track in the dark and she’s kissing you and you didn't even expect it.
You didn't even have to look at her a certain way.
you don’t even have to be in love with her and you’re pulling out of her driveway
banging on your chest with your fists and King Kong is doing a crossword puzzle
in his cage.
You’ve got it covered.
You do this every weekend all summer long and no one can stop you.
You’re home and it’s only 12:30 am and your parents are still sleeping.
Today your father raked the lawn and installed new shower curtains.
He is in complete control of his life and has achieved the eventual goal
he is so busy he is oblivious to how unhappy he is
and it makes you sick but it doesn’t matter and it’s not you.
The neighborhood is congratulating him with cake and ice cream
and he eats all of it.
You ask the girl who has finally devoured the red insides of the blue-eyed boy
to come out with you;
sprint through the night powered by an engine you bought with your own money
and she actually says yes.
At the end of the night you kiss her and panic.
It feels like nothing.
You bang your fists against your chest and it hurts.
You clamber home and you’re too tired to call someone else.
No one can save you and King Kong has lowered his glasses down
the bridge of his nose wondering if he needs to take over again.
You have stopped moving and now you’re alone in a small, small, small, small room
and why the hell did you stop moving don’t you realize you’re a shark
you’re gonna die you stupid, stupid small boy.
You don’t know how to make it better.
You fall asleep.
In the morning you and your parents are both down for breakfast at the same time.
You don’t even notice.