shred the guitar like a heart made of roses

they were my first roommates
in Minneapolis.
i had known Jerome for a few
years. we smoked
pot together
and tripped on how
fantastic
it was
to be young.
the guy could shred a guitar,
make it do things
i had only heard
on records.
he got this pretty girl
to live with him
and me.
she was all smiles
and her name was Joy.
over the time we lived
together
we became friends.
we burned a few bowls,
drank some wine,
and read our sappy
kids poems to one another
while sitting cross legged
on the floor.
as jealous as Jerome was,
he never accused
us of anything other than
being friends.
which was good
because that's all we ever were.
Joy cheated on him
and they broke up.
worst was that she
slept with one of our friends
that i would have never
expected
to pull something like that.
you never really know
someone until they
break your heart.
last i heard,
Jerome went off
and became
a prostitute.
it was a bold and sudden
move ranked as high
as shitting on the hood
of your own car.
Joy only made it a year
or so with our mutual friend.
i never spoke to
either one of them again,
but through friends,
i knew what was happening.
i never got to
say goodbye to my youth
and neither did they.
we just grew up
and grew away
from our innocence
like it was something
that could be shed
through the skin
and tossed out
with teddy bears
and old baseball cards,
comic books
and music boxes.
you never get to say
goodbye
to your first love
because it ends
so badly
and sometimes
some asshole
with a keyboard
has to write up
a poem
to make you remember
it ever happened.