Another turning point, a shotgun in the dark,
we smoked the last of hope behind the mall.
Your middle finger wore my promise ring,
we laughed so hard it bled and stained us all.
So take the photographs of us flipping off the sun,
they’re overexposed like every plan we ever made.
I hope you choke on every star you wished upon,
but still feel full—time of your life, unafraid.