He smokes a cigarette in the corner of his room, sitting bare-feet atop the cold wood, gazing out the window with sleepless insomniac eyes. His fingers shake from the buzz of alcohol, his skin pale and chilly, his heart dead from a hole dug too deep and not filled back up enough. He can hear her...the woman who made him, shouting downstairs, but a part of him has already shunned her out. She screams too much. Knows too less. He doesn't care. He cracks the window open with a free hand and lets the cold air rush in. They never turn the heater on anyways. Something catches his eyes just then, like it does every day. A girl. Dressed in colors so bright they hurt his eyes, walking across the street towards her house, which was someplace across the woods, for she disappeared into them everyday. He knew her. Doesn't now. She doesn't look up and around at all, and he watches her for the minute she walks down the street until she melts into the forest again.
YOU ARE READING
her eyes looked dead
Poesiaa collection of poems, rants, and excerpts from books I'll never write. the poems usually rhyme. all by yours truly, of course. please don't steal em lol bc if i find out...you won't see the next day ;) what are they about? idek lol mostly heartbr...
