Ring the shot out across a suburban skyline
Squatted roof tops shingled up like collars
On the concrete drives, the fire works go
Up in flames of neon green and sparkling violet shrieks
Children call, yawn and fawn at
Inebriated sentiments under the sounds of impossible slumber
Time is counting, ticking like a finger through blind air
Contacting nothing but a line upon the midway
Between her and bare empty
Somewhere she is holding a glass and a sight
A new year and a hope that might
Pass before midnight into a tangible impression
Words fostering a complexion
Of frosted cheeks buffering a wind
A jacket to pretend it is only half as cold
Lips on shelf and a designated drive
One way back into the antithesis of a princess life
Nights of new and washed-down truth
Changing times and breaking binds
Of simple release of complication’s fragments
Exploding to the ground, ignited burn
All those Friday nights seem lost
Pray upon the fire lights, looking up and passing
Someone out there is going to die tonight
Drunken in a moving crash, strangers jostling
Over highway lanes and old ways to be
Kissing with Cinderella’s call
Stumbling steps and firecracker pumpkins
Exploding in prayers as the seconds approach
That maybe, just maybe he is coming
Racing interstate solid yellow lines
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