Torn & Dancing

We were young and mad and torn and hostile, as prevalent

as graffiti. Our love was more the core of pain, where

parents were multiple drug addicts, subject to live and perish

death. We loved a life of flames, ever to challenge structure,

bright-eyed and dizzy. Such ambition, envied for mercy—

curse to curse, and flame to joint.

We knew of love: a

teenage heart, second only to the streets. We ran and fell—a

bandage knee, and kissed and mourned—a damaged frame.

We knew not distinction, cultured to madness, house to

house, and block to block. In truth—an earth was sore and

sullen, city to city, and world to world.

Pain, such an intimate

chance, plaguing—both poor and rich. We travelled near and

far, a human mask, and jokes to follow. We never fathomed

a jealous mind: free and born, torn and dancing.