• sheismore 51w

    Of Death and Dying

    "Best green this side of Nicco's Laundr-o-mat," She says and smiles. I light a cigarette and look away. Searching for immortality in the trunk of my car. Eternal sunshine on a not so spotless mind. Guilt ridden. Angst ridden and desperate for attention. "Smile." Some kind of advice I suppose. "No Tears," he says And looks away. Blood shot eyes. Smell of Southern Comfort licking his breath. Death comes easily. It's immortality that's tough. Lifeless hull. "it's not really her," they say. "She's at peace." "Bullshit." He says and I nod. A crow caws in the distance. A horn honks. The leaves rustle in the trees. Hawthorn and Hemlock Juice. Desperate measures for desperate times. Deep breath. Inhale. "Count to 10," I think. 10 seconds. no change. I cry. Not aloud. In the shattered cells of a darkened soul. Cold. I shiver. Beautiful. Tragic beauty. Like Aphrodite, so says Alfie at least. Perfection at first glance. "I'm one of those girls," she says, "that they write rock songs about." Green fairies and Bohemian thought. Look at me, through tired and glossy eyes. The greatest minds of a generation. Lost In space, perhaps. Jumping hurdles in the darkness. Like Brick. Tennessee Williams tapping into my head. Keep running until you fall. Dressed in Black. Chains and silver studs. She looks down. Blue eyes closed against the pains of a Not So Perfect World. "A black hole is essentially a burnt out star." Like Sleeping beauty. But not Mr. Disney's. No Prince to chase away the Dragons. A silent row. Holly Golightly dressed in Black. Flashes of a dark haired Messiah. Not Jesus, not a Jew. A perfect patron of Rome. Set jaw. Irish. I shake my head and yawn. Silent. Shaking. Purple lips. Like a flashback sequence in a Tarantino film. Smoke rings in a black light trance. Look away. Doing Trainspotting lines in the darkness. Haunting screams. And the sounds of fading life. Look away. "Don't look!" She says. A marbles statue shattered. A last work of art. Sirens. Blue and Red. Tattered remains. An empty shell. "She's gone." They say. And I whimper. The fluttering wings of a lost bird Crackle inside my mind. Somewhere within I shiver. I jerk. I cry. Silent and Unseen. "Let me stay," he says and Pete Droge whirls against the coming night. Dawn happens. Fast. The Aurora spreads it's wings. "Death comes fast," they say. "Only the good die young." Clich quips of comfort to sooth an aching soul