|My second Daily Deviation.|
Alcoholics AnonymousLightning glances off glassAlcoholics Anonymous by EmaciatedandEpitaphs
confined within the cracks
Still champagne pours from the carafe
crystal grimaces glaring back.
The slam, slabs of meat. Guttural groaning, moaning.
‘Yes. I need more.’
Wine and whiskey;
interplanetary AfterbirthBreathinterplanetary Afterbirth by kairesdream
becomes scars (becomes
into exhale) imprints
Blue Moon BurningIt’s night.Blue Moon Burning by MindlessThinker
The car exhaust runs warm in my ears nose and throat, but the smoke’s too wild to see up the pipe. I guess it doesn’t matter too much, really, except for it smells almost exactly like the way that buildings breathe when they’re on fire (boxed-out, stories-tall steel dragons without all the teeth) and I’m half-wondering if one of them’s hiding in there too, burning up the engine box all sneaky and secret. So I’m squatting there in the winter darkness, quiet as I’ll ever be, with my nose at the butt of my dad’s ‘78 Cadillac—The Blue Moon, we call her—as it sputters slowly to life with a spare set of keys stuffed down the gullet of its keyhole.
Okay, so admittedly I don’t know much about cars—only what I’ve picked up from the manuals my dad reads me sometimes when I wake up at 2AM and can’t fall back asleep.
Which brings me full-circling back to where I am now: