humming over a drank, charlie presses the cool glass against her forehead.....nodding to the words..."when i saw you and that girl"....blindness....beyond heartache.....each drink, brings the feeling back full throttle....she says a prayer out loud....longing for freedom....egh.....she hugs herserlf....and sings a note..."baby, i rather be blind".....tears streaming...she just wants her james. any kind of way, reeking of some womans perfume, obnoxiously drunk, she wants that scent, those eyes, to fill her up...the record is on repeat.....she has decided to listen to this song all night till she passes out....another prayer..."jesus help me", her neck wet from sobbing....help me she whispers.....BLACKOUT
2 comments:
hey nakita, it was nice talking to you at the party on Sat. I like your writing. It makes me think of some of August Wilson's stories. -neill
OK....that shit was RAW as hell! im just gon stop commenting because i'm gonna be sweatin your words and singin your praises too much lol! write that shit write that shit, WRITE IT! ...from this point forward I will try not to be so ignant and only comment with proper literary criticism...:-)
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