Mid-July

smoke curls from between his fingers
a cool impossibility: he adores himself.

sky wide open, pearly ink blue
absorbs idle conversation that plays for hours
in the locked rooms of their minds

he is so bright, a cursory glance will not do
smoke breathes into fringes of the atmosphere
shaded eyes in the dead of night, stale lashes

a blinding possibility.

lungs constrict. retract.
beneath the skin runs a river of fire
engulfs the deepest dark, a twisting white burn

a need for water
he lights another

breath out
flower petal lids flutter shut

sunrisen grass is a damp bed. an ashtray of glitter.
hair wilted. the party is over.

stars leak out of his veins for another night

I dunno man, I feel as if I could lie in the melodramatic universe of this poem for a long time.

The End of All Things- Panic! At The Disco

Also a bit inspired by Young and Beautiful by Lana Del Ray (from which I took my title)

 

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