Keep on flaming the fire
My coffee stained breath makes me uncomfortable. I have had a couple of sleepless nights, but this is by far the worst. And I keep intoxicating my lungs with the smoke from my cigarettes. Second pack and counting. On the table, my ash-tray lies tired. It is curved out to resemble the hippie sign, perhaps to compliment the freestyle path I trod. I am on fire, my hands are trembling and the corners of my mouth shake.
I crush a butt of cigarette on the tray, and I feel just as helpless. I feel like that spark of fire, too small to be of significance, that I have to be crushed at the end of my time. I am aching for more, my lungs are a blaze, they refuse. My mouth is dry, it begs. And so I smoke some more till I feel my eyes becoming heavy, and I…
View original post 706 more words
kashmarlow's Blog 