The dark and the torch.

The endless monotony of peroxide drama
and cigarette butt lies. Ebbing and flowing like a moonlit river.
The curve from shoulder to hip fades into the years before.
Protruding bones...
Acts aren't left for adults. Darkened rooms and fictional tales.
The musky smell of vodka remnants on coats and cardigans.
Jeans clinging tightly to limbs like blood-deprived leeches.
Oh, the 'grace' we call teenage years...