pink grapefruit

Only fall in love at 17.
When the confusion and the mists of trouble
are sweet as cherries and soft like velvet.
When the pain isn’t pain
its new and exciting.
And fizzes inside like homemade lemonade.
And the feeling of your heart crashing
looks like a door opening.
17 and naïve.
But not stupid.
No, never stupid and not at all mistaken.
With a love that stings like nettles
and a mind built to avoid lies.
Pink hazed glasses to blur the evil.
To find a locked door and a room of deceit
 and fill it with smoke and mirrors.
They will shatter come her birthday.
When the world twists to grey,
and the steeping stones to a better day
feel more like broken glass
in the sole of your foot.
In the tears you bite back,
a kaleidoscope of past pains hides,
overlooked by a rosy sky.
Like spilt watercolour in black and grey.
It’s rusting.
Saturating and consuming a depiction of a brighter array.
The colour fades and enhances the scene;
highlights the reality of a dream.
Where the clouds have silver linings
but the world is decorated with dust
Try your best to stay 17
Or fall in love the way you would
With a pink grapefruit mind
In a candy floss brain.
Remember the way it should have always been.
Sweet,
 sweet,
 sweet
17.
Reel me back in 
to your old new planet,
where young lovers
sit atop of sunflowers,
picking pomegranate seeds from the sky.
Letting champagne rain,
To wash away the pain.