Milwaukee skating rink, on a snowy night right before Christmas.
I don’t want to go home to family that are strangers who don’t,
and cannot, are just unwilling to understand what I’m feeling, going through.
I want to stay in this dark place, heated to discomfort, but enveloping,
and the candy lights dancing in shadows, as all these kids, all these young people,
are free and easy, not knowing what is coming for them.
On a stage, a petite brunette, her frayed hair up in a ponytail, closes her eyes,
and sings about how “No boy, I will not love you”, “I rightly turn away”,
the music sharp and electronic, and soft and warm as a new lover’s kisses.
Kids, teenagers, young smart ass punks, poet and dreamers, and death worshippers,
all dancing and holding hands and dreaming of that one true love, or the one that
broke their hearts, or some better sunny future down in Hollywood.
The highs of youth, on free and fearless love, or the stars whispering in your ears,
falls away so quickly, leaving ashes and regrets and need to sleep mornings away.
It is warm hear, and none talks to me, so I won’t feel alone when they will not listen.
I was like these kids once, but death came close, and fear and so much pain.
I cannot end the scars and wreckage, and none of those asshole can reach out honestly.
That petite brunette locks eyes with me, and I smile, and in the dark I see her smile back.
The candied lights and all the pure dreams and all the things I can almost reach in her,
call back another girl, another song, another dream, and a lost and ruined life.