Male - 21 Years Old
So, I wrote this for the girl I'm basically completely infatuated with. She's had the loveliest impact on my life that anyone I've met ever has, and I'm not going to smear sap all over this page, but basically I wrote this while thinking about her. She's going to school in Chicago now, as well as my best mate, so I plan on moving out there sometime between January and March depending on how much money I have after my tax return comes in. But anyways, til' then we're sending letters back and forth and I want to send this with my first one and I wanted a little feedback on it first.
Nights like endless strings of long-dead July
Spent hiding out crouched down next to the van.
Few have ever known my bones to shake when thunder sounds,
Iíve been a good friend to few, but always to the rain.
Tonight Iím celebrating all these thoughts where you are here with me,
Weíre square dancing in this parking lot,
Making circles the crickets strain to see,
And your eyes are lit up, wider than the oceanís floor
Brighter than a mother bears.
Iíve got myself all spruced up to hit my first night on the town
Without my box of muses half sewn into my thigh.
My home ainít shit but a mess of paper wires
Iíve been cutting out to hang my soul up with.
My bones have done their time in the skin that Iím wearing,
Iím gonna make myself a new one
Out of ink and wine and all things cold.
Give me a second sweetheart to write a eulogy
For my mockingbird shell,
I made it a funeral pyre with the bones of fishes
That have nipped at both our feet
And some laid away snatches of deciduous trees.
The fire that lights it is a sight that Iíve seen
Every second in my head for half a year.
The fire that lights it has been burning up my knuckles
For half a year.
The fire that lights it has been keeping me awake
For four damn years.
A needle and thread is compass enough for me,
I have never been so near.
In my dreams, we crouch together
With an oil lit lamp,
My arms are the only thing keeping your clothes
From getting damp.
Like oak carved strings,
My mind is a cartography of memories
Written in rings.
The feeling of bells ringing in the dusk
Still permeates my skull,
And blood is rushing,
And streetlight is shoving itself down my throat.
Darling, Iíll go stir-crazy if I keep on leaviní you alone,
I think Iím ready to re-attach myself
To a word that sounds like home,
If I have to wither away once more,
Iíll try for Chicago,
If I have to wither, honey,
I can make us a cup of tea
And wither in your arms all day.