-none so far-

I can see him from where I’m supposed to be. I can make out the chiseled facial features that form a perfect pale face, so perfect. I can see the muscles tearing at his white t-shirt as he trudges through the florescent room. I could have left by now. I should have left by now. But my body is incapable of doing such things without knowing that whoever he leaves with tonight, and wraps those tight arms around, will be just as drunk so that she doesn't have to feel the tortuous mixture of my wrath, his love, and most likely the excruciating urge of her puke traveling back up the trachea.

As I circle my way through the parking lot, my fingers trace the graffiti on the gray, sad bricks next to my cold fragile body. I can feel my lips begin to quiver, and the sweat starting to trickle off of the palms of my white hands. I start to imagine myself in her position, the sweet sensation of being wanted by him. The unforgettable stench of cigarettes and poisonous, sweet, love that I found once while staring at the stars.

I continue to picture myself isolated into his chest, and feeling his breath blow onto the surface of my skin, then disintegrate into the deepest particles of the most inner surface of my soul. I had wanted him like this before, but something about how that bar reeked of loneliness, and as the slow music sounded so lifeless, and the liquor managing to make the taste buds on my tongue feel loved and nonexistent all at the same time.

If this is what fun is, I don’t want to have any of it anymore.

Author's Note

This is just a very brief introduction to something that I think could really become something great. Also, this is an extra rough draft.