Last Conversation: 

what good is “I love you”
if you won’t stand for me?

figures on a playground,
chalk from old games, salted with rain.

my fingers tremble to draw these lines
over cracks and vivid red paint.
skidded tires and fourth of july, blood and bile
cigarette burns where grass won’t grow.

If you crash again, I won’t survive.

“Who would ride with you,” she laughed as she smoked.

I stand, clutching the threads that I have
of good conversations, boyclothes, and emotes.
don’t temper what you can’t control
don’t go forward when you can’t U-turn.

Noelle hovered over me, her fingers touched my cheek.
were you faking?
were you just faking, amy?

I don’t remember the answer.
I turned over and I wept.


About Amy

Amy is a freelance writer and artist based in LA. Her hobbies include romanticizing her world, having too many moody thoughts, and wandering through neighborhoods she's never been in.
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