Concrete was pounded, these old stomping grounds are losing meaning in these fucked up withering street lights. Virgin minds lost in the back seat, bumping heads hard against fake wood paneling. Your hand print left on windows outlined in steam. Count all five fingers in the akward silence that would remain. “How much longer?” we’d like to think until we could handle the aftermath. THink back now, how could they like the touch of our nervous trembling fingers across such porceline smooth skin. Darkness would cover us up, swallow it whole until your wishing you could hold out longer. And these days of innocence and first experiences just fall to wind and wander out until they escape back in our heads. Wrapped in legs, choking back the noise to not wake your roommate. Lying awake looking at ceilings because you can’t get comfortable in small spaces. THink back, remember when..