Graduating to Wet Stones

My American Gothic I wasn't any good at adolescence. Guilty of ignorance into pot-dazed teenage metal rage. Too poor and fleshy to escape inside the Jordache, short skirt, flirt for a living set. Terrorized by boys, scorned by girls who made fun of my quadruply foreign eyes and paperback trances-- until the day I vanished. Draped in black, hair curling wildly around me-- weird and supernatural, I meet my first lover in a vampire novel. We haunted the night in a caffeine haze. I awoke in the morning unafraid of death. And oh my new companions! We gathered crouched under blankets, my preternatural friends persuading me deeper into their novel world. Safe inside my cave of flying demons, I devoured words. Around midnight, if you stop for a yellow light going red, look for me against the moon. I am watching, laughing at you, and I won't stop.

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