I live with cigarettes in my back pocket.
I twirl one between my fingers, curl hair that lingers
on my forehead, brush it away and hope you’ll play
this game of Living Dangerous.
We knock wrists, the flask in my fist
spills like the chills running down my spine,
aligned with the wall, though I know
I don’t get chills much anymore.
Before, it was life lived languidly
but now it is life derived, life contrived
to live fanatically, emphatically
I live with cigarettes in my back pocket.
Can’t seem to stop the thoughts running through my mind
They are blind, entwined with your movement
I relent, I breathe in char, lungs fill with tar
endorphins release, functions cease
I raise the flask to my lips, eclipse reality
false actuality, and soon between becomes
the space, the place where there is no you
beside me, now you abide alongside society
but I will not. I raise wrists, clutch fists
persist, and swallow skyfulls of smoke.
I live with cigarettes in my back pocket.