Skate/Demons
It's easy to grin, when your ship comes in…
He’s thinking he needs new wheels, smaller wheels and narrower trucks, maybe thinner risers. He can’t carve the way he’d like too, knows he can get down lower and carve harder way the fuck out if he had the proper gear. Maybe what he’ll do is have another set-up on stand-by, ready to go. The existing trucks and wheels and risers for cruising around the city, and a second set for when he hits Bushwood. He can afford more speed. He’s that confident now, that good.
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He’s Wilco sad today. The world absolutely does not make sense, not one little bit. His heart is breaking and his mind is aching and his head is reeling and he’s not sure what the hell he’s feeling. So uncertain, chasing his tail and just so overwhelmed with the weight of the world. He tries to find the words, write them down before he forgets, but it all just reads like chicken-scratch-mush. He bites down hard, re-directing the pain in his head down to his jaw and his molars; the jaw that locks and cracks from the braces, the molars that are filled with silver. His mom used to drag his cranky bed-headed ass to the orthodontist because straight teeth and a beautiful smile were important.
So very fucking important…
He still has an overbite, still has stains from chewing gum all the time.
He’s thinking he needs new wheels, smaller wheels and narrower trucks, maybe thinner risers. He can’t carve the way he’d like too, knows he can get down lower and carve harder way the fuck out if he had the proper gear. Maybe what he’ll do is have another set-up on stand-by, ready to go. The existing trucks and wheels and risers for cruising around the city, and a second set for when he hits Bushwood. He can afford more speed. He’s that confident now, that good.
------------------------------------------------------------------
He’s Wilco sad today. The world absolutely does not make sense, not one little bit. His heart is breaking and his mind is aching and his head is reeling and he’s not sure what the hell he’s feeling. So uncertain, chasing his tail and just so overwhelmed with the weight of the world. He tries to find the words, write them down before he forgets, but it all just reads like chicken-scratch-mush. He bites down hard, re-directing the pain in his head down to his jaw and his molars; the jaw that locks and cracks from the braces, the molars that are filled with silver. His mom used to drag his cranky bed-headed ass to the orthodontist because straight teeth and a beautiful smile were important.
So very fucking important…
He still has an overbite, still has stains from chewing gum all the time.
posted by C. A. Jackson at 7:19 AM
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