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| the way she looks, the way she smiles, the way she smells.
well, that about as much all over.
www.xanga.com/neonData | | |
| actually, scratch that.
...I think I'll live. | | |
| it helps the day pass by a little quicker.
"Small bits of green and brown stare back at him as she gets in his car and her laughter breaks the silence that once was, and the rain falls in a drizzle, as the door gently closes shut, and the silence is no longer deafening; the falling drops of water reflect the suns soft rays, watching behind a blanketing cloud. She stares not in silence, but soft peace, wishing to escape this prison called home. The only good she knows of this place are her friends, partly her family, and her boyfriend. She stares at her lover, and he smiles back politely. She grins back and for no apparent reason, they start laughing. [must have been doped up.] She turns back around, and rolls down the window, letting the rain fall gently on her hands. The rain halts as the surroundings go black, except the glow from neon yellow lights. A weak horn blast echoes throughout the tunnel they had gone under, and the rain starts again. Stronger, this time. Tempers flare as the water rises, and the lovers witness several close mishaps on the road ahead. They decide to go to the fields, wishing for the weather to behave. As if by fate the two arrive at the grassy meadow, and the rain ceases to exist. She looks behind them, and sees no cars. No other people. Complete peace around then, as the waters had driven everyone inside, everyone except the two lovers, ones at ease with the world. They climb the red and yellow tower, and sit inside the small room, made of metal, plastic, and covered with graffiti. And these two sit inside the caged room, not trapped, just waiting; but, for what? It didn't matter, as long as the lovers could sit and hold one another in eachothers arms.
another perfect day in this utopia." | | |
| I'm not going to use xanga anymore.
or, I'll just make a new account.
either way, I'm not saying which I'll choose.
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| everyday was the same. work for a few hours, go outside for a smoke, come back inside and work until close, have another smoke, and it's the same thing tomorrow. half the office has some form of cancer. even I, who wouldn't call myself a 'smoker', am sure Im going to die within the next few years of this life. paperwork, phone calls, company meetings; bitter coffee, sarcastic compliments and false hope of wanting questioning, 'how was your day?', 'what are you doing this weekend?', 'how's your kid, how's your wife, how's your life?'. nothing is worth asking anymore. I see the same people everyday. our mailman come's in at exactly 9:15am every morning, monday through friday, and the morning crowds walk quickly through the front lobby, running to catch the elevator before it closes, leaving them only the stairs. our manager sits quietly at his desk, doodling what could only be though of as the next big idea. everyone else, sifting through their computers, checking email, updating paperwork, downloading porn, anything to make the day go by a little faster. tell me, is this boring to you yet? it is to us. if only you could know the horrors of a company life. maybe you do, or maybe you've stopped reading already. maybe you've already gone on to something bigger than this, more important. maybe you've thrown this away by now, used it as a grocery list, as a place to write a needed phone number, as a gum wrapper, made into a basketball to be thrown into a metallic trash can, where you dispose of all the things unneeded in your life. or perhaps you're sitting in your office right now, wondering where the fuck your wife goes at 5:00am every morning, why your kid has so many locks on their door, why the bills haven't been paid. perhaps you're in the same hell i'm in right now. who knows? i could be they guy right next to you. i could be your manager. or i could just be some young teenager sitting at home, writing for the hell of it. but am I spot on? could it be that ive just described your life? look around you.
you're not the only one. | | |
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