modern life...a novel

linear life in grey chronology. subtle hum of a machine. eyes reflecting narcolepsy. stagnant love finds cocaine dust on mother's dress and another woman's hair on father's suit: She wakes up to a breakfast buffet of sugar coated pills. an array of brightly colored invitations to escape. he repeats yesterday only to come home to a half-empty bottle of salvation. with each sip the pain dulls. the mirror she gazes into has a sobering effect. she cries in terror as she looks into the eyes of the monster in her nightmares. the constant pounding in his head quickly brings reality back into full focus. he reaches once again for the bottle, when deep down he really only longs for a hand. our lives are open books, but writer's block ended the reader's suspense before the plot can develop. nothing but beautiful, blank pages bound by a desperate search for meaning, for a resolution, for the perfect rhyme. questioning everyone but the Poet.