3.3.18

Seventeen

Sugarcult is bouncing off the walls.
It's steep hills and broken heels.
Traffic cones and wet paint tape,
in student dorms
where nobody we know actually lives.
It's watching gigs from metal staircases,
dripping in sweat,
stealing band t-shirts
because we were ignorant shits.
It's waiting for the 5:30 train
at quarter past four,
It's pretending you're The Monkees
just to keep warm.
It's pick me,
choose me.
Bouncing off the walls is Sugarcult.
Sugarcult is 17.

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