Kickstart the Funeral

Children are screaming
bloody murder
behind the curtains
of a rundown playhouse.

I can’t help but remember
dandelion summers spent
trying to convince Ken
that Barbie was a slut.

In the reaper shade of
post-apocalyptic autumn,
they found ways
to diagnose the voices
in your head,
slipping them
underneath the bourbon
on your tongue.

Speak
in angry sugarcane
to scare away your ghosts,
as you secretly look
for new ways
to define falling in reverse,
with excuses
built to hold you.

We breathe metaphors
for freedom:
running water
-adrenaline and nicotine-
pared by razor rocks.
As it laments
at the uselessness
of jogging in circles,
with chalk-eyed trout in tow;
atop paper boats with plastic anchors.

Some memories
never die
-properly,
but you learned how
to decay
in the quiet.

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Tags: barbie, Child's play, memories, poem, poems, poetry, poetry blog, poets, poets corner, regret