The succor of strumming overtakes her as the moon climbs high; if she plays late enough, she will not sleep, will let hours slip by, will become midnight's muse, or something else ---
I’m okay in here you know? she said I’m writing my first novel I get inspiration being in a place like this the drunks the ****** the junkies all the lost and lonely are washed in like rats from the ***** city streets she kept talking and I kept listening she was interesting she had a cute lisp and her legs where long the lazy light caught the curve of her smile there were moments of silence when she would write things down take a sip of her drink or to light a cigarette - in this tortured place she was like an angel hope was still in her eyes her skin had a healthy glow she was unbroken by the world … Clay.M
Sometimes life feels like a bird without wings to fly high sometimes life feels like a sunny day without shines sometimes life feels like bones without flesh like a corpse that nobody wants to be around. sometimes life feels like a last breath like a fish gasping for water. sometimes life feels like it’s ******* fed up with me and you know what, I’m fed up with it too.
In another life I would marry you shortly after meeting In this life I'm wandering re-learning how to live "Just being happy" with never seeing you again There isn't a wand to undo this heartbreak the grisly taste left in your mouth Death is bitter, yet would have been better than this daily affliction Peculiar and unfamiliar feelings of endless cold spicy desires never to be fulfilled