Oct 7, 2012

Smoke

* i wrote this a good 10 years ago - now i get to type it*

The grey smoke rose over my head, like a dark cloud
fogging my view.

The little white tube rolling between my fingers, like a living
thing.

Burning & crackling to fulfill  my need.


The desire to drag the air that's drained in nicotine, is similar
to that of a kid asking for his sugar dose.

Looking at the smoke, it similes a thread of grey, going straight up.

But the swaying left & right breaks the rhythm.

I try to follow it with my eyes, but it fades away to nothing.

It reminds me of a long narrow road leading to the sunset. And the burning cherry is the sun.

Only, it's a black & white image. It's a sweet journey towards death.

Each footstep is a dance i find the pleasure comes with the music in each & every drag.

As music fades away, i put my cigarette to sleep.

PS: i submitted this in my creative writing class. The teacher's reaction.. was probably similar to yours