Weary-headed, he felt as if he were carrying the weight of the world and its copious problems on his miniscule shoulders. He looked visibly indisposed; his face gaunt and far paler than his typical dewy glow; his once firm body was now that of an insubstantial, flimsy flower; there was sadness in his deep mahogany-coloured eyes as dark circles began to form under. Overworked and apprehensive, he found solace and contentment in cigarettes. He could feel his lungs weakening and collapsing, cigarette after cigarette, but he chose to continue to facilitate in their destruction. In his usual daze, he stood up from the cluttered pieces of unfinished work that collected on his disheveled bed sheets. He gawked at the pastoral setting outside his bedroom window, observing the pallid moon that illuminated to nurture the sky's obscure setting. He strenuously slid open his balcony door only to be greeted and surprised by a whiff of bitter, frigid air. He lit a cancer stick, inhaling the fume that he had become accustomed to as he tousled is lustrous, chestnut brown locks with his opposite hand. He was finally at ease by the overburdening day's end - a cigarette was what he always found himself needing.
- P.M
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lit beneath a livid moonlight
i encounter those eyes - serene a fixed stare, a familiar face i try to remain composed but my mind wanders elsewhere i find a sense of mystery in the subtle motions of your lips your cheekbones, your eyes solace is what i procure in the diminutive details of your face i catch a final glimpse - eyes locked i feel a prickle across my skin bewildered and fragile not wanting you to notice that i am merely fixated i take a moment to observe the sweeping passer-by's around me as the dreaded rush hour nears its end i've lost you in the crowd within a matter of seconds no longer close to me no longer locked onto you i don't dare look back for those eyes are now nothing but a passing memory - P.M |
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