Sign up now for a
Free Email Account &
your own Online
Writing Portfolio!
Username:
Password:  
Reviewer Items

More Reviewers  

Read a Newbie
Badges
Testimonials
Tell a Friend
Know someone who'd
like this page?

Email Address:

Optional Comment:

Who's Online?
Members: 387    
Guests: 1995    

   
Total Online Now: 2382    
Writing.Com Time

Tuesday
May 29, 2012
10:50pm EDT


  >> Static Item >> Poetry >> Drama >> ID #1092234  |   Show DetailsPrinter Friendly Page Tell A Friend
Meloncholy Cocktales
This is what came from the combination of Jazz and my mind...
Rated:
13+
by
Avg Rating: (1)
Her eye’s were glazed with confusion, small droplets began to trace lines to her now, dry and quivering lips then fell into champaign glasses, this night, she drank alone, drunk on the wine the instruments produced, they played melancholy tunes, a fragile symphony that seemed to pierce one’s emotional Barriers, she enjoyed this place, it was an escape she visited often, where wino’s plagued the walls and sadness hung thick across the ceiling like tiles of broken promises, she felt at home here, comfortable with the aura, her cigarette lay in the ashtray, unsmoked and half out, her glass half empty, mascara left rorschach tests upon her face, which were easy for anyone to imagine, the bar tender embraced her presence from across a podium where he would replace dead presidents with cocktails and borrowed ears, here, he was known as “friend” to the half awake and half dead, zombie’s became his only companions, but she, was no zombie, she, was an orchid, growing from cracked mud, struggling to breath, and to, grow, she was a cherokee rose, losing hope, wilting from being touched by un-nurtured and violent hands with destructive inclinations, she was a fall leaf, beautiful and slowly dying, The bar tender knew this all too well. He had an unspoken love, that slowly found its way through the smoke and crowd each night. Found his way to her. He spoke with gentle words. Kind words, and she listened. And when he finished, she was at a lose of communication. Silence became his heart. He waited anxiously for an answer, for her voice. He stared into her eyes for emotion, but found none. He looked for body language, but her body had told told him too much already. Only then did he realize, that she was already a grave woman. He smiled, fake, ultimately fading. Searching for words to break the unsettling void. She was cold, but not heartless, just broken, tainted by a personal commitment to a dastard. He buried his emotions with in a blanket of glass, and his mind with in a sea of washed up lies, and she returned to the land of the dead, and let the music consume her...
© Copyright 2006 Projekt Wordsmith (UN: projekt at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
Projekt Wordsmith has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
Log In To Leave Feedback
Username:
Password:
Not a Member?
Signup right now, for free!

All accounts include:
*Bullet* FREE Email @Writing.Com!
*Bullet* FREE Portfolio Services!