Your Specialty.

You're intoxicated behind the wheel, poison close by to maintain the edge. One burns in your hand; the breeze carries its trail away, winding like the road ahead. Endless roads lead your aimless mind. Maybe I should wonder how you stay inbetween the lines, but my mind's in the same layer of the atmosphere as yours. Passengers seat's silent except for the sound of my own foreign laughter. What's in the can? Down another taste.

It's your aura. Billboards and junk mail tell me about this. Underage misconduct, subject of lectures- you wear it on your skin. Reflected in your eyes, somehow it's not the sin mommy and daddy and the books told me it was. You like this, abusing the controls. But my trust doesn't shake and my conscience doesn't scream. What do you do? How do you do it? The poison must run a different course through your body. My edges are blurred and I'm a girl I've never met, but you're the same you I knew hours before. Conspirator to your crime, enabling, but I don't feel sorry. Somehow I trust you to carry me to later days. The road we're on doesn't end when we turn into the driveway. Outside's covered in a cloud of smoke.


Enter with caution, but I enter like a long lost friend stands inside. I pick up a cup and trash the can. Take a drag; take a hit. It's the atmosphere and everyone's playing. Who ever volunteered to get picked last? Belly up. You're the MVP; it's your art, and you train the room. I trained my eyes to admire when my mind was hazed enough to let them. I'm weak but I feel so strong. My conscience says slow, child, and I tell it I will tomorrow.


Where'd the night go? Sun shines under the door. And as I walk away, I wonder if it was worth it. I want to say no, but I laugh instead. Youth twists and turns, and I'm strapped into this ride. You won't catch me green in the face; I know where the coaster turns from shameless to stomach turning. No worries. Stay down for the ride, but get off before you blow.

Now I know how much it takes to throw me off. I'm immune to you now, resident specialist of all things young and crazy. You're a good time and no more, no more.



You're notorious and nothing I need, but I think I'll keep you around to play it cool.