Life Piracy and a Guest Appearance

Last night I
gave in to my selfish,
pressed up against
some pungently boyish smelling
Peter Pan
flower child

Last night he
tasted like Kyle
back when I was still
madly in heat
back when I was
vulnerable and
un-ignorant, not- naive
15
and pretty
and pretty miserable

I guess,
not all that much has changed,
save for the tally:

nineteen now,
at least I understand
just how naive I was (I am)
just how cruel
and foolish
and cracking;
a piece of the broken mason jar
that once held captive my spirit

now it's all this:
"I couldn't give a flying fuck
tonight"

and all that fuck-giving in the morning.

It's the disintegration of a moral compass,
the deregulation of Jiminy Cricket
who has not sat at the nape of my neck
since I mistook him for a regular cricket
and stomped the damn thing
with the heel
of my boot.