Summer Lights

That summer we ran the streets, a pack of feral children in heat. Our days and nights were consumed with drama we created, hungered for. Broken hearts and broken bottles, blood mixed with tears and laughter.
Who were our masters? The selfish, the distant? The abusers, the neglectful? Out here, they had no say, no influence, outside of the occasional psychological break, the crying heard in another room at some party house, or a friends apartment.
Who could control us? We couldn’t even control ourselves.
Our foundation was stimulation, the accelerated heart. Speed, acid, sex, conflict and love. A blurred, wandering foundation, shifting continually under our quick feet as we were constantly off balance and in a state of recovery.
Don’t ask me what days, dates, and times. I didn’t give a fuck what time it was. The seconds moving on a watch were a personal hell that I had shed, along with the rest of society. The consciousness of time was my enemy. “Live for now!” Yesterday couldn’t have me, and I didn’t have tomorrow, so the moment was all that mattered.
We were wolves in training. We were breathless, but kept moving and screaming. The ones who didn’t, faded away in the distance, or died. “Live fast, die young”- an ethos that consumed minds and bodies. We wrote history on young flesh, the burning pyres of civilizations waste, illuminating the summer night.
We burned bright that year.

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