Ripe with Nightlife
By DikeMent
The scent of cigarettes enters me. The headlights blur my view, I'm blinded. Trauma is the backdrop of the scenery. My mind plays tricks on me, but secretly. Askew to the view, Hold on tight as the night takes flight. I'm being guided by a pale, silver moon. Prediction's have arisen, The planets realign, The coming of dawn is near, A revelation of a sign. I sigh. Deep breaths calm these wicked thoughts, And moments stick together. I pull hard trying to break them, I try to make them disappear, It's all so cloudy. The back of my mind is being carved out by itself, And I feel frozen, as in carbonite. I am now unwilling to participate in old games I once played, I abandon them for things like tragedy and depression. Or maybe I'll find something more. I'm searching for something more, something a little deeper, Something I enjoy having hover over me.This is just basically about me thinking about things. Uh...the cigarettes are from the restarant I was at, it reeked of smoke. The headlights are from the cars to and from said restaurant. Just thought I'd explain a little, cause some of this is pretty vague. Written April 18th, 2002 © on Apr 18 2002 03:27 PM PST 18 • 0 • 12
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"The scent of cigarettes enters me...."