Sleep eludes me as if I were the black plague. I know there is nothing I
can do. Nothing I can do to change what has passed. I know that he will
never forgive me. I know that he will never love me again.
No, it's not that he will not; it is that he cannot. Nothing in his power will allow him to. But whether he can or not doesn't matter. He wouldn't want to, anyway. Not now. Not ever again.
Even God has forsaken me, leaving me trampled on by the side of the road. Trampled by the shoppers, hurriedly buying things supposedly in celebration of Christ's birthday. They could care less about His birth or His death.
Everyone is in there own little world, not caring about everyone else's. They don't care as long as they get what they deem as the 'best'. This selfish practice is called capitalism. Sadly, communism, the idea of sharing and giving doesn't work. Everyone is still working for their own gain.
I close my eyes, trying to block out the glaring glowing sign, "Bluegrass Bar" Unfortunately, the 'r' is no longer working, so it shows, "Blue gass Bar". I pity those who go in there.
One would think that a facility entitled "Bluegrass," might, perhaps, play something in the bluegrass style. Not so, with this establishment. No, they proudly blare their techno. The techno isn't bad, just poorly arranged remixes of older songs. It is their repertoire that annoys me, approximately ten songs. Over and over and over again. Every night.
Those who go don't seem to notice or care. And those who do, find a different, probably cheaper place to buy their alcohol. Then again, song choice probably isn't always the top choice when one is looking for a place to get drunk and/or high.
I sit up, looking into the mirror on one of my bare walls. I examine my visage closely. In a year, my reflection will be blurry; a decade it will be no more than a shadow. A score, and it will be gone.
My hair is long, not blonde, and yet not brown. Mousy brown could describe it, but will never fully bring its dullness to justice. Since I became a vampire, it has become shinier; however, I could never model for a hair care company. That is unless I were only the 'before' model. My face is now flawless, smooth and creamy. Deathly pale compared to my now charcoal black eyes.
I change my clothes with a thought, a nice red tight red shirt and black pants. I decide to emphasize my figure to prove that I was completely over my loss. I wasn't.
I never will be.
I leave my house with a thought, going to New Mayhem. Perhaps, I will stop by Las Noches.
No, it's not that he will not; it is that he cannot. Nothing in his power will allow him to. But whether he can or not doesn't matter. He wouldn't want to, anyway. Not now. Not ever again.
Even God has forsaken me, leaving me trampled on by the side of the road. Trampled by the shoppers, hurriedly buying things supposedly in celebration of Christ's birthday. They could care less about His birth or His death.
Everyone is in there own little world, not caring about everyone else's. They don't care as long as they get what they deem as the 'best'. This selfish practice is called capitalism. Sadly, communism, the idea of sharing and giving doesn't work. Everyone is still working for their own gain.
I close my eyes, trying to block out the glaring glowing sign, "Bluegrass Bar" Unfortunately, the 'r' is no longer working, so it shows, "Blue gass Bar". I pity those who go in there.
One would think that a facility entitled "Bluegrass," might, perhaps, play something in the bluegrass style. Not so, with this establishment. No, they proudly blare their techno. The techno isn't bad, just poorly arranged remixes of older songs. It is their repertoire that annoys me, approximately ten songs. Over and over and over again. Every night.
Those who go don't seem to notice or care. And those who do, find a different, probably cheaper place to buy their alcohol. Then again, song choice probably isn't always the top choice when one is looking for a place to get drunk and/or high.
I sit up, looking into the mirror on one of my bare walls. I examine my visage closely. In a year, my reflection will be blurry; a decade it will be no more than a shadow. A score, and it will be gone.
My hair is long, not blonde, and yet not brown. Mousy brown could describe it, but will never fully bring its dullness to justice. Since I became a vampire, it has become shinier; however, I could never model for a hair care company. That is unless I were only the 'before' model. My face is now flawless, smooth and creamy. Deathly pale compared to my now charcoal black eyes.
I change my clothes with a thought, a nice red tight red shirt and black pants. I decide to emphasize my figure to prove that I was completely over my loss. I wasn't.
I never will be.
I leave my house with a thought, going to New Mayhem. Perhaps, I will stop by Las Noches.