I’v had two and a half cigarettes today.
None of them changed how mad I am. I joke to myself, “sorry hun” whenever I light one. The idea of anyone’s concern or lack there of, does not compare to or lessen the upward pull on my spine after the first inhale. You care enough to be even slightly surprised or annoyed at this? I wasn’t expecting that. Do I even really know how everyone would react to me now? Or am I making the assumption about the person you thought you had to be while I was in the room with you? We both were acting you know… but I’m the only one whose bad review has actually affected my bookabliity, so it doesn’t matter.
“You shouldn’t be doing that” my heart says
“You’re a bad ass” my smile says
“Who cares, I do that too” my lungs say
There is silence from the brain. They’re just happy there’s no conflict, for once.
But what about me? Doesn’t that matter here?
More importantly, do I even want to be here, doing this. Do I really want to be the center of it all, the mechanism that brings anyone part of us to movement? I am not sure. The relief is alluring enough for me to continue half assing this. Half inhaling to avoid too hard of a cough or too hard of a hit. Microbursts of intoxication brings a glimmer of of freedom into reality. but like all things that come after the sweet, promising kiss of clarity and progression.
I am still, so very mad.
at all of you.
