My chest is tight. It could be from the cancerous smoke I exhale with every breath. My fingers tinged with the dense musk of tobacco. The night of the urban desert is cold and races over my skin stealing my warmth. The nights sky drowned in the Orange lights that illuminate the ground. Beauty in darkness, serenity in chaos. These are the things I must find. Like a blind man struggling to understand the concept of colors; I must try to find it. My heart still heavy. Like an infection it spreads to my chest and to my fingers. I am weighted. I am hopeless. And I am here. In the cold, trying to find reason in a world of lost souls. Two Fresh cigarette butts stick out from the soiled ash tray. Two down, eighteen to go. The paper is dry and my tongue meets the rough cotton. A flash of light, turns to a low burn. The fire enters the cigarette and I inhale flames as the demons before me. I inhale death and accept it into my veins. Another ploom of smoke washed away by the chilling breeze of a desert night. My mind races and I begin to think about what drove me here. The end of a flower is always morose to see. Soon the once vibrant colors begin to fade and an ugly brown soon takes its hold. It spreads and soon over takes the once beautiful vibrant pedals. The fragrance in bloom once so pure and sweet now becomes putrid and puts an odd feeling in ones stomach. Soon the delicate pedals fall and all that’s left is a carcass, a reminder of something beautiful. Three butts now protrude from the ash tray. How is one supposed to feel when they see such wasted beauty.
