"I got kissed once," she mumbles,
sitting outside the local Sonic,
between her fingers a corndog fumbles,
mixing her slushy with beer and tonic.
The not-so-neon sign of the dive
flickers like a flashlight there;
the activity isn't alive,
its fundamental force impaired.
"I remember it vaguely," she groans,
the seat of her car squeaking,
"The times were full of gasps and moans,
my memories are fleeting."
Many things happen at night
while others are asleep.
Under the not-so-neon light,
the stillness made her weep.
Inspired by the odd stillness of nightlife.
Everything is broken. Broken clocks, broken doors, broken spirits. Struggling just to softly breathe your name without my voice breaking. Shredded letters, meaningless scripts to highlight just how much my life is a cleverly constructed piece of satire, poorly printed on a newspaper page that no one reads, tossed to the sidewalk and stomped into fibers that do nothing but pollute the already ***** puddles on the side of the street. The words upon that parchment, the ink within the pages, is insignificant. I am insignificant. I am a vagrant. I am a knot in a tree trunk, and when a tree falls in the forest, it screams. It silently screams to be held back up by it's brothers, by its friends, by its family, but none of them move. They let it fall and they watch it rot.
— The End —