at 15

if my mom could see me..

   both sweating
panting,  each other's names.. she'd never told me how i'd be forgotten so easy, and never warned me about all the pain in the world.

   and if she could see me now, I bet she'd say its okay to cry about money, doing 75 on the freeway this night.

me, snuggled up.  synthetic uniform.  Knife.  High, with several drinks.  One in the chamber, and ready for bed... I think she'd be proud.