JULY

I remember the day we drove down to the river, a joint in my mouth, and you in that sweater.

The tension in the backseat of my first car, and the voice in my head wants to take it too far.

Your music was loud, but inside I screamed louder. What’s wrong with you, weirdo?!

Why do you want to kiss her?!

The sweat on my brow drips into my eyes, but rolling the window down

Threatens to reveal our hiding spot, so we melt.

A hot summer day, a beating red sun, darling, if it weren’t for you, I’d still be on the run.

Slide down the canyon, step on a cactus, exploring your land with reckless abandon.

Your monogrammed lighter flicks too close to my skin.

You light me on fire and I still let you win.

Now I’m up in flames, I can smell my hair burning. I struggle to scream

and my stomach is churning. Polaroid moments, paralyzed in my mind,

I wish more than anything you’d never left me behind.

Burn baby, burn, but only for me, screaming and crying through grit, bloody teeth.

Poisonous smoke is filling my lungs. Beg for me, angel, or I’ll cut off your tongue.