A Night on the Town By. Joseph S. Cochrane The scars rub on the inside of my sweater. They start to bleed. I walk to the store even though I cant stop shaking. It is a warm night. The street lights burn my eyes of vodka. And razor burn. Driving me to my knees with their harsh demanding beams. Scrapes. I would have found a book to read. But I can only read their words. I would have found some music to hear. But I would have only heard them yell. At the store, grab onto a fridge. Hold on so I dont fade. Mr. Cashier sees my scars. The blood on my fingers. He lives inside my ears and tells me where I am. Someplace dead, alone, and forgotten. He looks at me and gives me scorn. I should be ashamed. Trying to get attention and fame that way. Why dont they just go away?
Posted on: Tue, 15 Oct 2013 02:30:28 +0000
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