lochnessa
Disgusting. Or so she supposed she should think of the cockroach climbing up the steps to her dorm. However, it didn't ask to be a cockroach any more than she'd asked to be a cocoa puff in a bowl of kix at her school. Sometimes, oftentimes, she felt as reviled as the roach--she empathized with it. It wasn't easy being something no one really wanted around.
Static. Unsurprising. It's not like there were any radio stations around. She expected nothing less from the desert. She left the radio on, and scooched down further into her chair, fully intending to go to sleep to the sound, and not to wake up. If she couldn't die to the sound of rain, she'd settle for static.
it's funny, how vodka remedies so many things. aches and mental pains, emotional train wrecks in brains,beverage of the gods, blessed [?] elixir, dancing through my veins in a nonchalant lilt, easing the hurt with the firm command of a physician [witch doctor?] —
but don’t trust my words. i don’t drink.
your sound
beat
beat
beats
itself way through my
steel
reinforced
bones,
and etches itself into my
imperfect excuse
for a heart.