Smoking Time

I wish, sometimes, the smoke that comes from my cigarettes will billow so huge it will envelop me, the nicotine, my dangerous passport to neverland. I close my eyes and I shall be transported, buoyed only by the angry lyrics blaring on my stereo.

I turn off the lights in my room to create the impossible. The only sign I will leave is the tiny red orange speck of light from my stick. Look for it if you have to look for me.

Last night was one of those nights, spent wondering, wandering. Was pissed with an incident a few minutes ago. I was so angry. There are things, solicited but still are not given. But there are circumstances that make it easier. And when one does, it's not given just for the sake of giving. There's a certain concern that comes with it.

I puff the last breathe of my stick. I tried to be dizzy. Unsuccessful, I light another one.

Another escape. I will be panting for air when I come back.