king of the neon lights
_{wore the crown on friday nights}

Like what?

The words fall from blue lips, just as cocky and confident as my own. I face him bravely, despite being a nothing compared to this man boy who'd lived for far longer than I, shouldering more burdens and feeling more than just pain and rejection— he had not lived pure months of quiet hatred that culminated gradually, bursting at the sight of a single individual (the sole center of this hate). He has probably felt so much more, and I have felt nothing at all when compared to him— it makes me feel lesser (how rare), thinking about what an advantage he (all of them) had over me.

But he does not know the many things I can (and will) do, the leaps I will take to put myself ahead, to take away the competition with petty but swift moves. He does not know that I am keen on succeeding, that failure is not an option when it comes to anything, that I will never hesitate to bring someone else down. I will reach the top, whether it be through deception and lies, inlaid with lust and greed, a composite of sin and cunning— or something more courageous and treacherous, with exchanged blows and sweaty bodies (sweaty for a different reason), clenched jaws and vice grips. I could rule the world, could become something chaotic and unsympathetic as I bring ruin down out of pure disinterest. I could do anything.

Nor does he does not know the precision at which I could blast away that brain of his, with a shift in weight and the fluid, fatal constriction of muscles. I could bring him to his knees before he even had a chance to register I'd moved at all. I could take everything away from him, could shatter all those thoughts with a swift and accurate kick. I wouldn't didn't.  

"There's plenty of things someone can do if they put their mind to it," I tell him, words distant and soft. My mind is rolling away with the waves, pushed and pulled until it slid from my grasp and ran rampant into the churning blue depths. My gaze wandered, drifting to the grin cracked upon dark features, caught in the glint of his eyes. "If I wanted, I could blow your mind." This was, of course, a joke. I could very literally blow his mind, but I could also weave lies and perform acts of deceit, work my way in and bring it all down. But that process was unmastered, far too long and grueling for me to perform here and now (I wouldn't even fully grasp the basics of it for at least another year or more). Instead I stand relatively still and calm, collected and quiet. My mood has changed from a moment ago, falling down from my throne of confidence (where is the grin now?) and stumbling into the dark of something more melancholic.

I lick my drying lips, withering against the brittle winds from the salty sea. "And what more can you do, if not just this?" Bubblegum falls to the cloven hooves that linger above the surface, gently pressed to the water as though any deeper and they may never be removed. As though they'd be sealing a permanent connection between ocean and body, a commitment too great for someone so young.
"talk talk talk"