Been there, done that, got the fucking t-shirt. by grew-up-a-screw-up, literature
Literature
Been there, done that, got the fucking t-shirt.
I left my conscience on the doorstep along
With my battered red sneakers,
As we curled ourselves into the floorboards of your attic.
Letting the dank air suffocate,
the screaming angels
Residing in the back of our lungs.
Aching to be burnt out with surges
Of nicotine fueled suicide.
We we’re the type to store pain in ounces
And place them in jars,
As though they held some kind of worth,
In a world in which pain is the latest trend.
Teenagers are the hormonal disease spread out like
A plague, that everyone grows out of
Or at least can medicate.
We were the lucky ones, who made it out alive,
Or so they say.
A chip off the shoulder
A fi