the boy with frosted tips

Bubblegum staling on her tongue

She smacks her cherry chapstick

Smeared across her lips like mud

She wishes for three kisses

From the boy she’s thinking of

The one with frosted tips.

Blood drips from a paper cut

She snaps her yearbook shut.

Then closes her room window,

So the curtains do not billow.

A man walks up the driveway slope

Knife in hand, and a rope,

She checks her AIM.

A KitKat crunch

Chilling cries,

School lunch,

Unseeing eyes.

She powers on an Outcast song

To drown out all the screaming.

Bellows lasting way too long,

She goes back to day dreaming.

Snap, crackle, pop

She doubles up her socks.

And tip-toes down the hallway,

to the awning, yawning

Still waiting for the ding

From the boy she sees as king.

But the man downstairs,

His hands drip blood

His harrowed mouth, a snarl.

Her mother, hushed.

So is her crush.

No message or reply

My, oh my, he must be shy,

The boy with frosted tips.