Empty promises poured down like tainted raindrops into the souls of those who carried their hearts in wooden boxes, and their minds in chastity, as if this would protect them from the real world.
The blind lover sat on an old busted chair with a shotgun in one hand, and a bottle of rye in the other, waiting for the return of his cheating wife, who’d been fucking the twenty odd year old bachelor in the apartment across the street.
The lonesome violinist held her instrument as if she was holding her infant child, whose life ended before it began, murdered in cold blood by a drunken father, whose own father had been a drunkard ass well.
A nameless youngster walked down a broken street, throwing gleeful smiles at complete strangers, who walked past him not knowing whether he was under the influence, or just happy to be alive, to be breathing and enjoying his youth.
She sat beneath an old tree with branches outstretched in every direction; she picked on the strings of her father’s guitar, feeling the skin on her fingertips getting tougher with each note, which echoed in the crisp fall afternoon.
Peggy Lou locked the door to her beauty saloon, and strolled down the empty street at midnight, glaring at the light that shone from an apartment high above, and wondered what kind of perversity went down behind closed doors.
Old man Carlton packed his long wooden pipe with exported burley tobacco, stared out of his rear window at the city’s skyline, and wondered about all those people, living like cogs in an old rust infested machine.
Mrs. Anderson poured herself another shot of whiskey, and gulped it, feeling that flaming sensation as the booze ran down her throat, and into her stomach; she picked up a .38 snub nosed revolver and shot herself in the head. Her brain splattered all over her family portrait.
Young Betty stood in front of her bedroom mirror with tears of black eyeliner running down her pale cheeks; she wiped the make-up off her face, and swore she’d never change anything about herself for a man to notice her even again.
Everyone is either running from something, or running after something in this world we live in, trying to make ends meet. We keep running until one day we fall to the ground, and never get up. We do not stop and let the world go round, we do not stop to look at one another, for we are devoured by selfishness.
Nobody knows what the future holds for anybody, nobody knows what goes on behind closed doors.