orange skins by Elena Ferrari (15, Massachusetts)

orange skin between my teeth, 
the smoke-sweet flavor still remains; 
on my shirt are orange stains, 
the table holds a citrus wreath: 
drops of juice wet underneath 
while I sit with a rotting brain. ​

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citrus pills and orange pain, 
the floor will sag and droop beneath 
words I know the answers to. 
solemn silence carries ease, 
contemplating perfect clouds, 
orange silence turns to blue. 
light will crawl out through the trees; 
my ears have no more need for sounds.

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