vforvicious

its not about any of this shit, this bright hair of mine, this cat collar around my ankle, the thick green and orange of my jacket, its not about the way i sit slouched on the sidwalk, metal through my body, ink in my skin.its not about any of that.

its the way we dance strong and fast, climb buildings and fences and scream when we want to.the way we carry each other home, sleep next to each other with our faces covered.its every small genious thing we do. words we put down in pencil, in paint, scratched into cement.all we need built out of rusty bolts, old car parts, bottles and milk crates. its sleeping in the rafters with a door for a bed.stealing pianos off front poarches. swimming in the cold toxic water because your dead friends ashes are somewhere in there.

its about how we can learn everything from each other which trains to take, how to play this guitar dan this violin, how to break in, break things down, wire them back up the way we want them.its being awake when everyone else is asleep, looking in their windows, running through the streets, walking seven miles to the next town for coffee, building bonfires in closed down landfills and having enough time to want everything.

I know a boy with his toothbrush around his neck.i know a girl who always spits on her shoes. i have a teeshirt that belonged to my great grandfather.i have a patch that someone made me. its these small things that hold us together.these invisable things they don’t see.

Punk.

This entry was posted on Thursday, October 25th, 2007 at 12:37 am and is filed under Uncategorized. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can skip to the end and leave a response. Pinging is currently not allowed.