Another in a series of poems written while working in my lifeguard tower. No specific purpose, but it may be a song one day:
A shy girl stuck in her head. A cold lie and the void begins to pry. With a dark past left unexplained. You’re a small girl with an overactive brain.
She left her blanket by the passenger door. I called out, but it was intentionally left for more. Of what? I’m not sure.
A weekend of drugs and canned energy. Spotted by glimpses of fear and insecurity. You’ll be the grandma stitching in her chair. I’ll be the zookeeper trying to show that I care. This event is solely based on substances. And I’ll try to kiss you under the circumstances. Cause I’d rather know before I’m a friend. Or at least that’s the message the fungi sends.