Fifteen

Tall green and cans of cider, 
Huddled in the woods like war time survivors,
Hiding like prey from the red and blue,
Inky paste sky and a mouthful of you.

Drunken bubbles floating above hovering heads, 
Loud music from speakers playing that same song again, 
And I wished that I was fifteen till death
I don't want to die on an old last breath.

I'm warm here, despite the cold, 
My friends are drunk and the leaves are gold,
And the stagnant smell of the rotting ground,
It's in this river that I wish to drown.

I am happy here, I'm young when I visit, 
Three years ago, it feels like a million, 
and I don't know if kids still trample these paths, 
Like pouncing safari cheetah cats,
But I know I did, and forget? I will never, 
The ghost of my teens will haunt here forever.