Imagine from FelixMittermeier from pixabay
Scattered pieces of briefs and some shirts, these were ironically belongings of the hobo who sat on the couch with a puzzled look.
This puzzled look that could only have been brought about if a zig-saw was crushed into bits of sand.
His feet placed on a wooded table that carried a half eaten box of pizza that was the entertainer for the dancing cans of beer all around it.
His eyes were thrown away from the muted flat screen, in search for the point on the wall were all his problems would be solved.
Who was she? Was she a figment of his imagination? It was almost as if her eyes knew him but wouldn't tell. Who was she?
As the problem hung of his mind so did the stream of beer he wiped of his lip with his tongue.
He asked his tongue for answers that his mind didn't know. For only his tongue could tell how many times it had been housed by another mouth in search of pleasure.
Who was she? The thought of her laughter was cutting his mind with a butter knife.
Soaked with thoughts and alcohol, he decides to use the bed behind him in his sparsely furnished apartment when, as he points the remote to the television, there she was!
Dressed as casually as she was the night they supposedly met in a local bar.
She wasn't the small town girl she was a few days back, she new terms that only years of study could piece together in a sentence.
Now he has a bad feeling in his stomach. He is no where near throwing up, if anything he needed more beer.
As he walks towards the fridge he is abused by these words:
“I see you've gotten better at this.”
A tool designed to pierce his ego and boy did it drill.
What was confusion had translated to anger as he slams the fridge door. Also he's all out of beer.
He tosses himself on the bed only to find a brand new day within his thoughts.
Maybe some of us where ment to just see stars and never get to know them.
It would be an honour for you to read my work @raj808 and @stormlight24