|Octoberesque (standard:poetry, 389 words)|
|Author: Finn McKool||Added: Oct 17 2002||Views/Reads: 1941/0||Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)|
|I don't really know what this is about. I'm just winging it.|
The amorphous doom cloud of blackbirds slithers across the sky like a giant celestial jellyfish. The steam pouring from my nose has me confused. I don't know if it's cigarrette smoke or my own breath. I see the girls walk by dressed in their winter clothes. I have to turn my head to watch the way they go. Coats and big sweaters and jeans don't hide the lines of their curves. They Just soften and blur. I'm still paying attention. My big bad coat armors me from the thorn bush, friendly and green in the summer, branches bare and blood red in the winter as it tries to grab me. Every step's a chore, but one you want to hurry to avoid the flurry of wind and drizzle that's freezing you to the knuckle. I already miss my warm bed as I cross an orange and brown landscape back dropped on an ink soaked cotton sky, making my way to class. I want coffee now, but wanted sleep more earlier and now there's no time. Never is. It's a coin soon spent when you spend it on your entertainment, but my purse always seems bare when I need it. And speaking of which, I'm broker than a whore in a convent. Why is it that when the weather turns cold my wallet's always empty, and consequently so's my stomach? A cold late morning on an empty stomach and an emptier wallet and a gray sky and warm bed abandoned and office job looming ahead of me. When did I die and go to hell? I keep hoping for my lotto ticket to hit (yeah I know its lightning twice in the same day on the same spot at the same time and as likely as politician telling the truth, but it's my dollar so who asked ya?). I keep waiting for lightning to hit my head as well as my wallet. The words come as slow as quittin' time at the joe-job. And most of my time these days is spent in dreamlike contemplation (hibernation?). So where do I go from here? Keep slugging it out with the rent and the job and the school? Give it all up and hope I don't end up working in a warehouse the rest of my life? Summer'll get here eventually. Fuckall. Tweet
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