I'm eighteen, and from the UK. I'd like to think this was just the beginning.
We are awake. We're both aware, yet look away. Can we pretend this didn't happen. Can we mend that rapid decay. Duvet covers my white flesh, regret covers yours.
My love is the firm hand that greets the man not good enough for you. My love is the shouting, the discipline, the silences. My love is the hidden tear that lurks upon my eye, at each achievement.
My own life is a still a story I'm too scared to be the author of..
The girls twiddle their hair in the setting summer mist, One last chance to catch a love, a lingering kiss.
I can't ignore the tears that fall like rain, For a cause that escapes us, in such vacant vain. I'll offer my hand, it's worth more than hope, Because truth be told, it's not a currency anyone knows.