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Subway Journals: Part 11 by Ray Printer Friendly


Thoughts coming slow, and all are dark. Don't worry about tomorrow, it may never come. Pouring milk into the madness, just to see what happens. People always try the locked door first, I notice as I sit drinking my coffee.

One girl, she does it three times. She tries to leave, thunk is the sound her forehead makes as it bumps into the door.

She gets outside, takes a few steps and turns around, remembering something she forgot. Ka-chunk, that's the sound the door makes when she pulls on it. Still locked.

Other door lets her in, she picks up a pair of gloves and turns to leave.

Thunk goes her head again. Maybe she could remember about locked doors if she quit hitting her head.


Listening as the silence sinks, troubling activity all around and a mind locked in a cell of melted chewing gum.

Sleep, distant and beautiful, a fairytale princess trapped in a monstrous tower. Sliding slowly down a hill of feathers, ignoring the forest of thorns growing at the bottom.

Large crowds, growling on the inside, bared teeth and twisting eyes, they hate their boxes.

Train-stop silence, roaring silence like you can only hear at the bottom of an ocean or a stalled subway car. Chrome everything, intertwined with shades-of-orange plastic and old linoleum, some strange vision from the nineteen-seventies gone terribly awry and exploded.

Sticky dripping from the seat by the door and no one quite dares to sit near the puddle.

All you can smell is cough drops and reek, New York winter.

Listen, if you want, but there's really no good reason for it.

Withering will, you won't stay strong forever. The tears in her eyes, the pain just behind them. Those eyes, that have looked deep into yours, like some terrible romance movie come to life and you love it, and you love those eyes and she tells you she loves you and you finally understand why they make so many terrible romance movies. Those eyes that have seen you naked all the way down to your soul, and approved of what they saw, and kept loving. The tears in those eyes, and the hurt in those eyes. The disgust, the betrayal, the rage, the heartbreak. In those eyes.

Entered By Tracie From Unknown
2011-04-10 16:49:05

In those eyes...layers of hope that somehow you hold the answer to what is so desperately wanted, needed, and if you don't hold the key, perhaps you will lie about it.

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