First time I got laid,
I was fifteen.
Kim.
Black hair and big breasts.
I just knew I was in love.
She fucked every one of my friends.
My heart felt like it was hit by a truck.
I wandered lonely
as the neon night.
I wanted to slide into her,
to hold her in my arms,
to own her like a poem
written in tears of blood.
Instead, I was just a budding poet.
I felt the emptiness of alcohol
that promised the world,
that swore it would take the pain away.
Nights that one day
would teach me the danger
and the futility of it all.
I could have followed her down the alley of ruin,
that dark street that called me by name.
Sometimes in bed,
I can smell her hair,
the shadow of where this little bird
wanted to build a nest.
Passion and heartbreak at such a tender age —
it almost took me out.