park shitty/lunacy/youth

it's some thing not quite like any other.

at times, it persuades a proud adoration, but always, it's a sad and lonely cage with it's door left wide open.  it's almost a hateful, obsessive, and fleeting love, something you hope to god you won't have forever. but once it hits you, there's a tiny piece of it that chains itself to your soul, and it will never, ever be shaken off completely or forgotten.  it's an alluring facade that's undeniably justifiable when you meet up at midnight with all the other pretentious urchins, to run through the dark night down a street that no visitor will ever know as well as you do.

it's something you can only understand if you've lived here.  really lived here, loved here, scraped by here, been fucked up here, gotten lost here, found yourself here; wandering through cold alleyways, submersing whatever smoldering wounds you're hiding in stolen wine and glistening turpentine.

under this snow blanketed, quiet little town nestled at the bottom of the mountains runs a band of misfits, a pack of lone wolves.

it takes almost nothing to be accepted into this pack:  just prove you're not a tourist. prove you can keep up with us. ski. but know that if and when you find a reason to leave, you should think it through. because once you leave, you will never survive here again.

this pack is led by no one, and is made up of lonely wolves, angry wolves, smug wolves, shackled to the walls they've built around their desolate hearts. wolves with no destination, no ambition, and just enough money for rent and their depravity. wolves that barely recognize their own reflection.

if and when you join the rest of the world, enter into normalcy, ordinariness;  where blow isn't kept on a plate above the fridge, and snow isn't the only thing prayed for each night. where poison and crystals aren't part of everyone's nightstand accoutrement, where liquor and lines don't start flowing by noon, and where everyone you know doesn't share the same filthy bed...

if and when you ever blossom into the conventional, you will be nothing more than a forgotten name. and once you leave the pack, you can never return, or consider this place as home again.

if and when you finally leave, you'll be better for your sojourn. but you'll look back at that deceivingly beautiful graveyard, where the cool kids go at night, and be amazed that you ever made it out alive.