twelve; growing up

I don't really have much to say. So. I hope this speaks for itself.


our shapes are those of phantoms
who phase through emotions (like walls)

and pretend that spikes are cotton swabs
and moving on is like eating your favorite meal

and fire is nothing but the burning in our souls
moving away like two compasses gone awry

we were a pair, inseparable as siamese twins
and now our silhouettes are drawing away

so long, sweet summer;
your rays of warmth are long dead; my heart grows chilly

you are who you are now

and growing up hurts more than I ever thought it would