Smoke inhabits my throat. My friends,
Intoxicated, are complimentary –
They say they wish their aesthetic was mine.
My lips, painted baby blue,
Hold loosely onto the Marlboro cigarettes.
I think of a boy, who I don't truly
Know, and I wish he'd attended tonight,
Although he was not invited.

I think in depth of social circles,
And of how circles are impenetrable –
They go continuously round with no edges
To break. I begin to realise that
That is the reason you aren't mine,
And never will be. However, can't
Circles overlap? Why should we not be
The arcs that meet? You are not here,
And I wish you were. What would you
Think about me taking a draw,
****, more than one? I said to you
Once that I would not become another
Teenager, another statistic, who inhales.

I guess I lied.

I think of all this –
As they take ***** shots,
And I distract myself from you
For a moment, by asking why
They'd drink it straight.