spaghetti, high-waisted denim, and messy hair!

taking the back route to escape old realities,

we end up bustling through the skyscrapers.

two bottles down and carefree howls,

feet dangling off the railing whilst smoking a cigarette.

the almond-colored sky is blurry,

atleast the black of my past stopped pricking me

Note: This poem is written using the word prompt posted during hour twenty one.