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  • Melancholy.
    Because just the other night
    I got drunk at the same playground
    that I used to chase my brothers around
    when we were 8, 10, and 4.
    My lips touched the cold plastic
    While balmy summer wind quietly whispered
    Knotting my hair and raising little bumps on my arms with every swig.
    And suddenly,
    The swings had changed
    From being the intense source of all the fear and excitement
    An 8 year old can muster
    To a dizzying roller coaster ride
    Making the trees grow 4 times in size
    And turning a teenager’s vision upside down
    From one sip of the cheap plastic bottle.
    Next time
    If theres enough vodka to go around,
    Maybe I’ll share a cigarette with the boy that complimented me
    On the lopsided bangs I cut myself.
    And on that fake rock climbing wall,
    (Which still makes my skin tingle from when my clumsy childish foot slipped
    And I fell six feet onto the warm sand),
    We’ll pass a Marloboro or a Camel between our fingers
    Until they touch.
    And electriciy will pass through his hand,
    But not mine
    Because I can’t shake the feeling
    That another little underweight 8 year old girl
    With buck teeth and blue eyes
    Will swing here tomorrow
    And see the butts and bottles we left behind
    And lose her innocence as i lost mine.
    Ending up like me
    Passing cigarettes and bottles, thinking of memories
    To that very same playground
    That very same wall
    And that very same feeling.
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