Under a bridge,
Kicking rocks at battered walls,
We smoked a few Winston’s,
Not for the thrill
But out of habit.
The sun dropped below the earth,
And the cloudy waters
Rose to our bare ankles,
You told me tragic tales of your life,
And I shared a few of my own.
Stepping through the ruins,
Of another man’s city,
In a crevice of the world
We didn’t choose,
Where no sitcoms are shot,
The ice cream tastes bitter,
And the devil,
If there is one,
Reins supreme in the thoughts
Of jagged minds.
We held hands and stood on broken glass,
With scentless flowers all around,
And watched the sun and the moon
Trade places a million times,
I grew hair on my chin,
And you stopped wearing heels,
But our beauty lived on
In the cracks of our sweaty palms.