kels327 (kels327) wrote in un_poetic,

Feedback Would be lovely! Be tough on me. :]

I am sitting on a bench, facing the sun and the Arizona highway. My eyes are open. I dont' remember why I am here. I just know that my sunglasses bite into the side of my head- right under my temples- you know the spot. I just know I am sitting here, staring into the sun, and the sides of my head are hurting something awful. 

I focus on tracing the skyline of the city infront of me with my dirty pinky finger.

It’s hell. I swear to god. I fucking swear to god-It’s hell.

There are two buildings. The light that  refracts through my glasses makes the space in between them look like some sort of magnetic jungle. But with more drugs and more pain and more tears and more vulgar music ripping at my eardrums.

I passed by a kid this morning. He was sitting  dying on the street of that city. And his father was there. He was looking over the child's should-have-been dead shoulder, screaming so hard blood oozed between his porcelain teeth.

I shoved my hands into my pockets and pulled my feet forward.

This wasn’t a city. This was hell. And if this was hell, nobody ought to've blamed me for just walking by. Nobody ever blamed me for just walking by, before...

Was that why I was here?

Is that why he was here?

I am sitting here on my bench. Covering up a long outdated picture of Lucas Arnold, Real Estate Agent. I'd had the pleasure of meeting Mr. Arnold once. Not that he had been in a particularly good mood, and not that I'd spoken a word.

But let me tell you- He didn't look anything like his picture. 

(But don't blame him. It's all in good business.)

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