stop saying what you think. listen to what you say.

the heat can kill you, like the grammar you didn’t learn in school; like those girls you were rude too. how the rocks escaped your fingertips and crashed against the surfaces of heads and four cries struggle to squirm through caged hugs. you are too old for your body so when the teeth begin to fall out be prepared to act surprised because the hair that grows between the knuckles were warning signs and now your dreams of having twenty one distinctive years is coming to an end. they say white lighters take the good away and leave just scraps. they say that dreams end when you die.