Baby, I Make the Corner Cry
I am an anchor
The streets are nearly empty, with most of the black suit and tie pawns getting picked up in their Cadillacs and Porches to protect them from the elements so that they may go home to families that love them or to hotel rooms too fancy to keep to one's self. I have become so accustomed to this danger; I have become so accustomed to this anxiety that it gives me. I know no other feeling and so I realize I am an anchor.
I question for a moment why I left in the first place. Maybe it was to keep from seeing what I knew would happen, but I see it anyways while I dream. Then I think that perhaps I left to escape him, but the cavity in my chest tells me I like his anger. The son of a bitch made me feel good even if he had a painful way of showing it. I felt alive; I felt like I was surviving. I'm free and now I don't know what to do with myself.
My hands are clammy, and quivering as the wind pushes passed, sending shivers up my spine. My heart gives off a racing thud, restricting itself from a slow, steady beat. It buzzes like a tag-along friend, getting quickly on your nerves.
Each empty step echoes the other with the pressing of cheap rubber soles against the crushing of gravel. I'm digging holes in my hands with my overgrown nails. The purple glow of the streetlights lead into the far distance, to a harbour where there are rows of boats like grave stones in a cemetery. My hands are clammy, and quivering as the wind pushes passed me, sending shivers up my spine. I am on a bridge looking out into the emptiness. The pure, empty grey lights of cars pass by the freeway below. The stars are clear in the sky, and I wonder how they could let there by so much hate and anger in the world. I wish to be one of the stars, to be counted among the deceased and to be forgotten quickly and without remorse.
Not far off in the distance I hear a voice yelling. I suppose it is curiosity that causes me to turn my head only a fraction of an inch, to see the lost, lonely face of the blonde with her friends not far behind her. I slowly find myself turning to face her, hating my movements with each growing second. Oddly enough she's smiling.
"We're going to a party," she says. "We were wondering if you wanted to come."
Her friends break out into laughter. I shrug silently and the corner of my mouth turns into a menacing smile as she emphasizes the word ‘we’.
“Well,” she says forcefully, letting all her weight shift to one hip and her arms crossed at her chest where she knows I’m staring. “Did you want to come or not?”
Once again my only reply is a shrug and I let her take it as she wants to. Her eyes are icy and cold, piercing like the side of a knife. Her friends, somehow huddled at her shoulders, seem to be oozing excitement, and it seems almost is if she were as annoyed with them as me. She sighs, and in an almost startling motion she stomps towards me and her frail fingers wrap around my arm, launching me forward down a road I don't care to know the name of.
I question for a moment why I left in the first place. Maybe it was to keep from seeing what I knew would happen, but I see it anyways while I dream. Then I think that perhaps I left to escape him, but the cavity in my chest tells me I like his anger. The son of a bitch made me feel good even if he had a painful way of showing it. I felt alive; I felt like I was surviving. I'm free and now I don't know what to do with myself.
My hands are clammy, and quivering as the wind pushes passed, sending shivers up my spine. My heart gives off a racing thud, restricting itself from a slow, steady beat. It buzzes like a tag-along friend, getting quickly on your nerves.
Each empty step echoes the other with the pressing of cheap rubber soles against the crushing of gravel. I'm digging holes in my hands with my overgrown nails. The purple glow of the streetlights lead into the far distance, to a harbour where there are rows of boats like grave stones in a cemetery. My hands are clammy, and quivering as the wind pushes passed me, sending shivers up my spine. I am on a bridge looking out into the emptiness. The pure, empty grey lights of cars pass by the freeway below. The stars are clear in the sky, and I wonder how they could let there by so much hate and anger in the world. I wish to be one of the stars, to be counted among the deceased and to be forgotten quickly and without remorse.
Not far off in the distance I hear a voice yelling. I suppose it is curiosity that causes me to turn my head only a fraction of an inch, to see the lost, lonely face of the blonde with her friends not far behind her. I slowly find myself turning to face her, hating my movements with each growing second. Oddly enough she's smiling.
"We're going to a party," she says. "We were wondering if you wanted to come."
Her friends break out into laughter. I shrug silently and the corner of my mouth turns into a menacing smile as she emphasizes the word ‘we’.
“Well,” she says forcefully, letting all her weight shift to one hip and her arms crossed at her chest where she knows I’m staring. “Did you want to come or not?”
Once again my only reply is a shrug and I let her take it as she wants to. Her eyes are icy and cold, piercing like the side of a knife. Her friends, somehow huddled at her shoulders, seem to be oozing excitement, and it seems almost is if she were as annoyed with them as me. She sighs, and in an almost startling motion she stomps towards me and her frail fingers wrap around my arm, launching me forward down a road I don't care to know the name of.