Bar Descriptive Writing
Autumnal weather is nothing compared to the winter, freezing my veins and forming cracks that run up and down my arms as I start to break, but every tear is freezing as quickly as it flows. I cannot help but feeling that things are beginning to fall apart. It was as if you induced me into a long lasting coma where my dreams were more appealing than the world you left me in, walking alone as a lonely vessel of what I once was. Left in the dark, much like the night at the bar, my most prominent memory of us burns brighter than the spotlight did. I stub my cigarette out in the glass-cut ashtray you left when you moved out and was flooded with memories of us. I still remember the night you let me preform with the band. You kept your left hand at the base of my lower back and introduced me to your friends. It was going to be a night to remember, but the lights could not shine bright enough to illuminate the darkness inside of you. I remember the smoke rising from your lips, my eyes narrowing through the haze. A smile played on your face and I leaned in for one last taste before we went on stage. The lights above us crackled to a hiss and died; suddenly I wanted to leave that dark place behind. Pandemonium struck as everyone rushed frantically around the
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You only kept me around as a trinket to display at your shows. I do not think I really wanted you, either. We wanted skin, flesh, and talent; we were using each other to get what we wanted, and once we obtained it, the spark that burned between us snuffed out. Maybe I should have taken that night as a sign. Any electrical engineer could never repair your darkness, for you were never a spotlight. You never really lit up my world as I tried to tell myself you did. I press my face against the glass of the window by my bed and breathe. I watch as the air splays out and clouds the outside world in a blanket of fog, and it reminds me of what you once did to my
You only kept me around as a trinket to display at your shows. I do not think I really wanted you, either. We wanted skin, flesh, and talent; we were using each other to get what we wanted, and once we obtained it, the spark that burned between us snuffed out. Maybe I should have taken that night as a sign. Any electrical engineer could never repair your darkness, for you were never a spotlight. You never really lit up my world as I tried to tell myself you did. I press my face against the glass of the window by my bed and breathe. I watch as the air splays out and clouds the outside world in a blanket of fog, and it reminds me of what you once did to my