It was only about three drags of a smoke to the bus stop. He sat with his tattered belongings pulled against his scrawny legs; folded like an accordion against his chest.
The deep blue sky would swallow him someday soon. Even after so many years, he could not find the words and figured it best to drift into the comfort of obscurity.
She left when it got real bad; blood oozed onto the needle tip. The best had not been given.
In the end, he knew he was powerless and had to let go; hands cracked from years of worry.
About the Creator
Darren Thompson
Thoughts transcend into word, often tangled and forgotten, too complex to have much meaning. Occasionally, they find order through poetry, and other times, regurgitate through short bursts of fiction.
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ALLITERATING
Sometimes swollen from stress, she stifles a smile strained and scared to share some semblance of self-satisfaction. Starts and stops string a song of life standing as a solitary sign, annoyingly stoic and submissive. A vast sea of sound is situated with only strangers strapped in their own seat; saddled with their own stride.
By Darren Thompson5 years ago in Poets
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