Tuesday, April 19, 2011

The drag...

She pulls a drag, long and hard
  

Taking in the nicotine; its burn, its temporary fix for the second, for the minute, for the hour.

She takes in, this temporary high
This relaxation... Owed to no one but her and the exhaled smoke from the discarded butt that has fulfilled its duty, assiduously...

Pouted lips press together tightly around another, quickly relieves the itch, the longing that she so missed in that solitary moment.

In her own world she rules this tattered and bruised moulding of flesh, drifting between memories and realities - each wrinkled line, each crease, tells a forbidden tale...

Driven to her crutch, pursed between two fingers, she blows... Fixating on nothingness, masking her emptiness or loneliness... Pale eyes stare, blankly.

She rules her world...
Cocking back her head to take a shot,
She swallows, wallowing in the drug, distorting her face from the sting on her tongue, the bitterness in her throat... Can't wash away the soul. 

Time's on fast forward, life's a drag - can't go too quickly or too slowly- so pills, drinks and cigarettes are preferred meals- the right food for this tired, limber frame that was once...

Once someone's friend, someone's lover, someone's somebody...

The world has forgotten her...

But she rules hers...

Caught up in her madness, she parades the street...

Day comes, night goes...


Need a fix... Quick
Agitated, trembling hands, twitching and pacing... a hopeless addict

The dealer deals and plots his trade...
She inhales deeply - the white powder puts a smile on her face...

He he, she's in glee...
She jigs, jerking to the beat she alone hears...

She fears nothing, she cares for nothing...

This is her world and she rules...


Written by: Rachael N. Collymore
© 2011

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