People Said You Were Rotten but I Didn't Worry

We're recklessly falling in love and I'm pretending the cigarettes aren't making me feel sick.

You talk like you have the worlds knowledge inside your head when truly you only know what your brother has taught you.

You're a high school dropout with a knife hidden in your desk drawer.

You walk around late at night, dreaming about the large, expensive houses where the people you hate live in.

You tell me how my hair is the color of your dreams and how you wish I hadn't cut it.

You sleep on my floor when you know my mother isn't comfortable of us sharing a bed.

I sneak into your arms late at night anyway and you laugh nervously and show me your true colors.

You pretend the cigarettes aren't making you feel sick after each inhale because your friends all smoke.

We sit in the hammock in my backyard and talk about religion and the future.

You tell me you don't believe in any God and even less in your bright future.

I let you drive my car to places you want me to see and I don't tell you I've been there before because you look so happy when we arrive.

Your thumb is making my skin burn and my lips are your new nicotine.

You take me home when the sun goes down and sit and watch me do my homework.

I sit in your lap and pretend I don't mind the cigarette smell that lingers on your clothes.

You lend me freshly washed clothes when I spend the night in your small room.

We watch movies and you fall asleep with your head on my stomach and you finally look at peace.

I worry you only feel at home in my house, where my mother tells you how proud she is of you when you told us about your new job.

You fall asleep in my bed in my arms and you look so calm and carefree.

You say you're fine but I worry about the bags under your eyes and the cigarette smell that increases.

I see you walk down our street sometimes at night when I can't sleep, you sometimes stop and look at our house and lower your head after.

We don't watch movies anymore and you barely come over anymore.

I knock at your door and your uncle says you're out with your friends.

I walk around town at night in hopes of walking into you, I stare at the large, expensive houses and wonder why you hate them so much.

I sit in the hammock in the backyard and read the only book you finished in high school before you left.

You spent a night at the hospital and your uncle called me but when I woke up in the chair in your room the next morning you had checked yourself out.

I can't sleep at night and I sit on the porch to see if you walk past so we can talk.

We haven't seen each other in weeks and I never got a reason.

I graduated and you never showed up to say how proud you were and spend time with my family like you always said you loved to do.

You don't walk around town at night anymore but I've taken your place and I stare at the large, expensive houses and hate them because they did something to you.

I hear people talk about you and your friends when I buy food, I worry you don't have a place where you can fall asleep and feel at peace anymore and I blame myself.

I worry the knife in your desk drawer isn't there anymore even after you promised me you would never ever touch it even if my life was on the line.

You said you never liked the end of summer because you saw people our age move away and get a future you couldn't have.

I worry you will walk past my house and look at it with hatred because I moved away for a better future.