Writer On The Run



Painted fingernails lick across the keyboard as she types ferociously with a straight line frown across her lips, eyes hidden behind glasses which peer to the corner of her laptop screen every time an orange notification alerts itself. Pouty lips pucker after sipping Canada Dry from a foam cup that is commonly found hidden within fellow cups under plastic wrap packed away so neatly on shelves in gritty department stores. Tanned hands move away quickly to write down another set of words in her note pad with a pen whose ink doesn't dry as quickly as anticipated while tears caress the pages and her hands wipe away words leaving mysterious images like that of ink blots held in the hand of a therapist. Wiping away makeup with pre-used tissues that have been stationed upon her desk--a canvas for new and old feelings that have some how managed to escape the girl like little hiccups from a drunken man wobbling up a staircase, stumbling over rain soaked shoes left in the hallway, and falling face first into a bed he calls his own next to a snooty wife that loves him more than the liquor racing through his veins. Moistened lips scowl as she returns her emerald green fingernails back to her keyboard to type again; silent winds creep through sealed windows leaving goosebumps up and down her arms as eyebrows rise to the fascinating tunes that erupt from her speakers and give her more thought about where this should end. Her lip ring is tackled by teeth and tongue while her brow ring is pulled by peckish fingers that glitter from the florescence of the room; eyes dart from word to word behind glossy mirrors that reflect the white essence present on the screen before her face. Crossed legs stitched up by cotton, feet hidden under slippers that emanate warmth to the rug below them, body clothed under a shirt the displays pictures she isn't too fond of. Eyes side-winding to the walls with writing and pictures of days not too far gone but far enough to make her yearn for youth and laziness where things weren't so confusing. Curls tickle the nape of her neck as she reaches below herself for a bottle of water which is empty but for few droplets that look like lost rain kept away from the world. Goosebumps that won't leave, she can't tell if it's because she is cold or if it's because the words just keep bringing back bad memories that were once good in the sane mind where tears weren't blackened by make-up caked upon her eyes. She wasn't crying though it was only for an act of dramatics to make her words seem a little more ecstatic and leave her readers with a smile  for once so they wouldn't scowl all the time and whisper things like "such a poor child." Playing with the ginkgo leaf upon her neck she grins a bit and writes one last word as it lathers its way out her fingertips. Wiggling her nose she stares at the digital sheet completely satisfied and shrugs her shoulders giving off a smug after tone. She inserts a photograph; she clicks publish, and shuts off her browser. 

No comments:

Post a Comment

Instagram