06.10.04: New design. Got rid of the art and tape trading sections since I don't really trade
anymore. Lots of new poetry.
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"Reflections of a Broken Bottle"
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I looked over my shoulder and smiled. And you smiled back. I saw the flash of your teeth as the light shimmered off them. And I swung around the lampost as the warm, heavy August air filled my lungs with life.
I watched the end of your cigarette glow orange as you inhaled. And I sat on the front of the bumper of the single car in the otherwise empty parkinglot. And saw the perfect curls of smoke dissapear into the night, much thinner than the vapors created by your warm breath. I always admired the way your eyes shone like stars under the September night's sky.
I saw the faint ring of yellow-white clouds around the moon that night. "Rain tomorrow," you said. Those were the only two words you had spoken all night. I watched as you got up and spun around, and the October wind threw my hair against my face as I joined you. Something about you always seemed so free.
I always feel so alone in big crowds. I sat in the corner with my knees to my chest, my chin resting on my knee. The air in the room was saturated, heavy with various smokes, and the faint trace of vomit and spilled beer. The lights seemed too bright, the noise too regular and loud to be coherent. And you came. No one else noticed you. You helped me to my feet, out of my corner and up the stairs to find peace in a mecca of insensitivity. My eyes had been use to looking toward the ground those days. And I caught sight of your forearm. Tracks. Again. My heart dropped. You didn't need to say anything. The images of you rushed through my head. Smile. Orange. The stars. Warmth. They exploded into light, pounding, oppressive light. And you said it anyway: This isn't enough anymore. It was November.
I walked the same street, sat in the same lot. I watched the broken glass on the pavement catch the light. The shine was never as deep as it had been in your eyes. The air never bit my cheeks so fiercely. Being alone never felt so cold. And I can sit in a million corners and on a million carhoods, and watch a million cigarettes glow. But I'm forever changed, scarred, alone.
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