Their eyes pass over me, as if I am empty air,
and I see her smirk behind closed lips.
There’s a dent in the wall from the day I tried to scream,
but found instead only my body could talk.
She kept skipping back,
the music making an never ending trail on her skin.
As she leaned against your locker,
I watched with a burning jaw.
The golden french horn slammed against my leg,
and she lay, frozen on the ground,
still trying to decide whether to breathe or to think.
We got ice cream,
at a stand that was always plagued by teens with smoke breath,
and I cried into my ice cream on the way back,
making everything black, white and vague.
And she jumped.
