Alone
My soul tastes like neglect.
Like the rotting fruit resting in the produce drawer of your fridge.
Like the plants, somber and wilted, trying to survive in the dark and unsustainable corners of your house.
Like the months of silent landlines and forgotten “I love yous” we never tell our parents.
Like the untouched bible and hollowed out prayers I think are going to save me...
@anarosewood
The Industry
The night is young and the air hovers with cheap whiskey and the stagnant breath of the nocturnal alcoholic, however, there is more to be said for those who roam through the vacuous sheet that is the night.
Possibly an unsatisfied career choice which led to a financially stable middle-class family.
Maybe a beaten down marriage cradled by the innocence of their offspring who keep them civil. Or just the young college dropout loathing a painful childhood that led to the maxed out credit cards and desolate bottles of Crown Russe. Nevertheless, I am here to fulfill the fantasy of a drunken one night stand and to give companionship to the splintered crowd that I now call my customers.