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08 March 2006 @ 08:35 pm
 
Need for a cigarette was too much,
but what else did she know?
She walked out into the cold night air
and lit up, as if she did it every day of her life.

And driving by you’d have never known
it was her first,
never known she’d only watched people smoke for ages
but never actually tasted the nicotine
as it hit her throat.

Walking through the cold night air,
struggling to breathe through the ice,
and took the elevator up,

She took off her coat,
eyes meeting, saying they were sorry
as they listened to old poets through the speakers.

The old jazz
and the accent of new england
hits her every time like gin down the throat;
it's warm, it's new, It's like christmas,
and it warms her up just listening,
just listening
as she sits down sinking past the old worn couch
onto the floor.

They talk, they talk as if they knew
the poets, best friends, lovers, brothers-
As if their deaths were as painful as our best friends'.
And they sit, and they listen,
just listen
to the moan, to the groan,
to the pain of man.

Then as shadows fall onto the window,
and snow flurries past the door
he kisses her forehead causing
such a pain in her stomach;
She decides then that
now is the perfect time for something beautiful to die;
just so we'll miss it.

As they slept in that small bed,
she waited hours for him to let go,
and carefully removed herself,
and listened,
just listened,
and as the train rolled by on those tracks,
she opened the window and cut the screen,
praying the cold wouldn't reach him and wake him,
and just as he began to stir,
she looked back and apologized
for the truth,
and removed herself forever,
falling gracefully into the darkness.



I expanded on an earlier thing I'd written and posted, I think.
what do you think?
 
 
 
Annabelle Banditpinksugardemon on March 9th, 2006 07:06 am (UTC)
I think this is my favorite of all the stuff you've put up so far. It flowed beautifully, and really captured a mood...

It reminded me of something we would have read in my BeatLit class.