desolation boys .

summer

every night, we would sit on top of your roof, fingers laced and looking up at the dark sky sprinkled with stars.

you'd say that it reminds you of a piece of cloth that someone had draped around the hills and then ripped in parts to let the light shine through, and whenever you'd tell me that i'd just nod and agree.

really though, it reminds me of your eyes, and the pattern of the freckles splattered across your nose and cheekbones.

we'd light matches and smoke cigarettes, exhaling the pale blue fumes into each other's faces and letting the ashes drip down onto the damp grass beneath us.

when the package of marlboro's we'd share between us was empty, you'd pull me close and whisper sweet nothings against my hair, your silky pink lips occasionally brushing against the top of my ear.

we'd just stay there, entangled in each other and talking about nothing and the world, until the sun would rise and the stars would fade, or until either of us would start shivering.

fall

we probably spent a lot more time in bathrooms than it was usual for two average kids in high school - if one could call us average to begin with.

we'd go about it like a routine, i'd nudge you in the side or tap my foot against yours under the desk during third period, and you'd look at me, send me a huge silky-pink-and-freckles smile and understand.

i've always found it kind of ironic how excited we'd get over this type of moments, considering how there was nothing particularly romantic about it, but you told me that for you, it was like an addiction, and i suppose i just kept doing it to see that smile every day.

you'd always be the one to begin, the first to crouch over the toilet bowl and stick two fingers down his throat, repeat the process until the ceramic was stained with vomit and blood, and i'd be the one squatting next to you on the tiles, holding your hair back and patting your back before we'd switch positions.

afterwards, we'd pick each other off the floor and you'd wrap your arms around me and kiss me, and every time my lips would part under yours, allowing your tongue to slip in.

we'd taste each other's vomit and our protuding bones would crash together, and when we finally parted, you'd tell me how much you love moments like this.

winter

i remember being in middle school, sitting in sex education class and being taught that intercourse is a beautiful, loving thing inbetween a man and a woman.

whenever we had sex, it was not so much that but more of a frantic, furious thing between two men.

we'd just crash down onto the bed or maybe the floor, and our clothes would come off one by one, and soon we'd be completely naked, tracing clavicles and hipbones through each other's skin.

you'd leave tiny kisses up and down my throat and i'd wrap my legs around your hips, and we'd grind together to the sound of imaginary guitar riffs, moaning in rhythm and orgasming as the grand finale.

as an unwritten rule, we never kissed or even spoke once it was over; all we ever did after sex was cleaning ourselves up before one of us would go home.

the next day, you'd always call me up and thank me for the fuck, and i'd just reply with a laugh and a 'you're welcome', and only about an hour later we'd be at it again.

spring

the days would get warmer, and we'd spend more time outside again, hanging around in the park and sharing cheap cigarettes.

you'd tell me how pretty i was, and how my eyes reminded you of big chunks of amber - neverminding the fact that they were actually green, but i never complained.

whenever you did that, i'd just smile and say that your freckles reminded me of constellations, and that your hair was the same color as the small kitten i had owned back in elementary school.

you'd always reply by poorly imitating a cat's purr and rubbing up against my side, and to be honest it never ceased amusing me.

at that point, i'd pet your hair and then turn my head to kiss you, and you'd always taste like nicotine and vomit.

you'd say that i tasted like death, and we'd both laugh because mortality is incredibly amusing when you have lungs like the insides of a chimney and bones that would make a skeleton feel fat.

summer

summer came with smoldering heat and humidity, and so did we.

we'd spend the days in your room, a mess of sweaty, thin limbs tangled into each other, our hands exploring the parts of each other's bodies we already knew too well.

the nights, we'd climb up onto the roof just like the year before, wearing nothing but shorts and small droplets of water running down our bodies, and if anyone had seen us they would've declared us insane.

you'd push the damp hair out of my face and blow wisps of smoke into my direction, and i'd lean towards you and inhale it all, and we'd repeat the process until there was no space inbetween our mouths anymore and the vague taste of carbon dioxide would be replaced with the strong flavor of what you call death.

we'd break apart after a few seconds, and on the last night of summer you'd put an arm around me and talk about how i was still beautiful no matter what i was doing to myself.

that was the moment when i realized that this couldn't possibly go on forever.