Tribute

We.can't.stop.
We are free-falling, crash'n'burning, world turning
forces of nature breathing in life and exhaling smoke
rings
scooping up with our bastard-blistered hands anything
and everything that comes our way and turning it into
dust.
Cigars, cigarettes, ringlets - we sludge up our lungs in
hopes to slow down our hearts but our pulses just
beat
all the more quickly and we run up steps and through
abandoned hallways till we collapse, out of breath
and
out of reach from anyone that gives a shit so we
get lit and burn through the paper, the weed, the
leaves,
our fingertips singed but our minds are rocket ships,
we are rocket men, playing in our rock band giggling
on
helium and refueling on whiskey and wild turkey we
are flying now, we are wings, the essence of feathers
floating
around but coming... down... closer to... ground.

Crash turn smash and burn through the dirt and
hiding in bushes and the grass is itchy and our skin is
scratching
off but we. can't. stop. and lo-and-behold we are
saved by a bottle of mislabeled pills and shortly
we
are swallowing and snorting, coughing and sneezing,
sniffling and smiling with half-opened eyes and with
clouded
minds we slap ourselves silly and punch each other
because we. are. invincible untouchable unreachable;
unarmed
and walking it off unharmed and laughing if off amongst
ourselves we are young and spray-painting our
lives
away on street corners and back alleys; on brick walls with
no name. Unashamed and broke we will paint on pizza
boxes
and work for cash or sex, whichever comes first, love or
survival of the fittest and we are fit enough to keep
moving,
fists in the air and lips bleeding we. can't. stop. believing
in tomorrow, puking in toilets and on tiled floors we are
friends
with the bums and chumming off our parents and loved
ones but we can't slow down and we can't get hurt and
we
can't be touched or turned or burned we are young and
free, happy and high hits with full tits warm skin hormone-
induced
drug abused suicidal prom queens dancing with the drop
out garage band kings in musty motels smiling in smirks
and
jerking off in public bathrooms with graffitied stall-walls
rolling in unwashed smelly scratchy broken mattresses.
We
are kids with sweaty palms and sticky thighs, sex thrills
and cheap highs taking the good with the bad with the
narcotic-
laced smokes and highways with teenage wastes we are
lost strays, runaways who just want a taste of life in the
fast
lane with our toes pushing the accelerator for gas fumes
and the brakes are totally shot and
we. can't. stop.