(Close to dark) The rebellion

I want that moment
when it is dim outside
so close to blackness
but the lights aren’t all the way out
and the stars are beginning to fade in
the darkest grey the sky can be before
a shadow envelops it 
the moment when intoxicated teens
stumble into a cemetery 
with half empty bottles of wine
for those few desperately trying to be
grown up
but mostly beer and cheap vodka
that burns down their throats 
in a race of deterioration

And late twilight gales blow
hair into flushed faces
rosy cheeks and shiny eyes
with smiles cloaked by the encroaching night
they sit around with cigarettes dangling
from their fingers and the scent of tobacco
seeping into their skin
as wisps of smoke drift into their
hair and stain their clothes
with the smell of rebellion
and decay
as ash collects on crumbling headstones
smearing future regret onto eternally cold concrete

Warm bodies press together
clumsily
falling over into the dew laden grass
the smell of hormones penetrating in haste 
the cool and mysterious aura that
lingers in a grave yard

Their skin tastes of ash to each other
but maybe that’s because they could
never taste anything else after the 
3rd pack
(now lying empty near Mr. Watson -
beloved colleague and friend.)
and smoky collarbones and
ashen fingertips is all they have
for tonight.

(Source: starvingsilence)

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