growing pains

Dull the ache with five-dollar wine in a summer

which hangs high and hellish and rides on the

coattails of your acceptance. But one only grazing

my fingertips as Eden’s forbidden fruit. And in it

all my allegiance is not to truth, but to beauty

and it's fickleness. To find the unexpected joy in

monotony and the fear in excitement. Fill the

heated months with actions relative. to religious

sins. With sanguinity and a smidge of hate. And

at the end I fear, home is more than a single train

away.