Feet stuck in this concrete wasteland she finds herself stood at twice a day.
Nothing can be heard but echoes in the station at 6am so she was almost thankful to hear the screeching sound of the train pulling in however her distraction only brought her back as the opening doors reminded her that she'd be standing destitutely for the next seven hours in a busted music store, meeting the great expectation of a maximum fifteen customers a day. It was a wonder how that place stayed open. Fortunately, the people that did come in had generally previously searched far and wide for the most authentic pieces which can only be found in the most dead beat stores but they had a high price so not a single complaint was made.
Our poor girl's hair was confined in a band near the top of her head and her jumper rested loosely on her porcelain frame.
She were almost immediately set on auto-pilot the moment she entered the store meaning the rest of the day would go by reasonably fast but torturously slow at the same time. Her body and mind may have been detached from the tormentors for now but this setting had no effect on the soul. Day by day it was slowly having it's effects. Wearing down every last piece of life left in her soul, she was right in the middle of a maze and now she can't get out.
But as the day is cut short at 1pm, her tired eyes guide her legs back to the place she declares her home where her mind will be set to rest and sleep will take over her limbs, for the next seventeen hours she'll be preparing silently for the next day to come.
A/N: I know this entry was a bit crap but oh well I can't help it that I'm dumb :)
YOU ARE READING
Complexion -Katie Barrett
PoetryA story of a woman facing inner battles as well as a toxic relationship written in a poetic form.
