city limits

sitting with a burning anticipation. ready to run for it. the thought had been lingering in her mind for some months now. some years. but more so in some days. the last visit to a city she will come to love so fondly, left her paralyzed and breathless in suspense of the life she could live. looking over the lights and imagining. reaching for the moon, and hoping to god when she falls she lands in the flesh of the city. walking through the streets, driving through the rapids of tourists and la locals. seeing the footprints of a life once had. treading dirt on the dreams she held on to for so long, along with the nightmares. brushing off the burning of the city. the burning of her infatuations. in life, in living, in love. turning each corner, hoping for a rainstorm. the fireworks, the sunset, the thunder; they had never left her thoughts. bringing her back to reality as the intestines of her bag spilled out onto the worn cement beneath her crooked feet. inbox full. brain full. stomach empty. life seemed empty, so close to her future, and so close to her past. the awkward life she lived, the suburban prison. she was ready to escape to new, more exciting opportunities, and to fond, bittersweet memories. this agnostic young girl knew more about herself than expected. her heaven and hell lingered far too close to one another. "purgatory city limits". and to this day, each bite into the flesh of an innocent, crawling down her throat to rest in her stomach to jab and pinch later on, will still be influenced by the nostalgia of san francisco. she smoked lucky strike brand, with some marlboro and camel on the side, until they took them from her local liquor stores and gas stations. and now she settled for her side brands. but her lucky strikes never left her dreams. because killing the night with wine, walt disney, and peach flavored tobacco was somethin' else. because the beauty of the atmosphere was so apparent. because with him, "love was rainfall". and those words would haunt the corners of her mind for years. like a feared beast, waiting under her bed under piles of old notes and stuffed animals. lurking in her closet in old photo albums and tattered, stamped packages. waiting until everyone is asleep, creeping out of the wee hours of the morning to line her clouds with silver. the beast crawled from the pixels of her computer screen. reaching and groping at her throat and chest; more so her mind. thoughts set, ocular fixation, intoxication. and as the smell of oranges filled her room, the addiction swelled.. fuck i need a cigarette.