girls
Maddy Rane
tw: alcohol and drug abuse
no one was writing songs about us when we were tripping in neon bikinis by the side of the pool. angels no longer. we knew we weren’t making it into heaven, no matter how much her granny prayed for us, so we pulled the screen off my window and flirted with the twilight and boys who had black eyes, broken bones, wings. C was so thin she couldn’t tell Xanax from vodka, but she was gonna make it to Florida one day just the same. i can’t make this shit up. her tears were literally smudging her mascara in the bathroom of a house i never wanted to be in again. her mouth was painted and cracked and wet all at the same time. blue eyes focused on nothing. that summer didn’t exist in reality. if you died in your sleep, would you wake up in real life? what if she dissolved like cotton candy and left nothing behind but a sticky, sweet smell and traces of that good sugar on the sun-scorched concrete? oh god, the dogs would come. maybe they’re already in Florida, barking at the sticks and poles and bones tossed and twirling to them. i think her name is Peony now. no, Virtue. no, Carmen.
Maddy Rane (she/her/hers) is a Midwesterner, an assistant editor for CHEAP POP, and a Scorpio. A few of her poems can be found in The Mill Literary Magazine, and even more can be found on napkins and the back of receipts. Find her on Twitter @maddyrane_.