A/N- This is about a girl I was best friends with in 6th and 7th grade. Although we both have changed and grown into completely different people than we were then, this poem is just about what she's turned into, from my eyes. And it relates to things that we shared or times we had that are still with me. This summary sounds really sappy, but it's not like that.


She was holding red autumn leaves

in her who-knows-where-it's-been mouth

But she spit them out because they were too sweet

(or too salty, maybe)

Her tongue is used to bitter words

So I took my autumn back

My autumn, now fall is my favorite

Because it's lucky to be alive


Maybe she's what I wanted to be

Because she's lucky to have lived

through her unwritten history

of needles, pills and powders, and of course, her trusty-rusty alcohol

and the times she drove too fast on slick black streets

wet with those tears she never cries

under blinding orange streetlights

That remind her of hazy days

with cookie-dough munchies (sweet)


She'd done it all

before she'd seen it all

But if both are in the past now

Just say it with a what-the-hell air

Like the way she gasps down extacies

I don't mean her pills, but

I mean those air extacies

like drinking up Fall Out Boy

in that bruised-eye kind of way


She taught me the word


She didn't mind the title

But when her drugs whisked her away

on a fucking flying carpet

I gained the name, too

She made me good with bad, bad streaks

Streaks (she always said- no one's ever quite whole)


I've heard her say she hates sluts

No wonder she hurts herself

(i don't mean in the way that I do.)

I guess she's lucky she's beautiful

in that destructive kind of way

And lucky to be alive.