I'm fifteen and high on grasshopper legs when Mr. Jackson
buries my head into the pillow. 'Stop it you're hurting me'
From then on, life erupts, like a sh*tty fire-work display
and I'm caught in the middle of it all--
dry vodka, tongue piercing, *j*c*l*t*d rage
As my hand lifts to shield from the guilty stares
At the bottom of a hill
They stand in a line
And I look to my side to see your hand in mine
'f*ck em all' you smile;
While spitting out the remnants of a puffy
we were lucky, it rained that day..