i stood besides the grass
on an empty crossroad
the ants feed on the remnants of an empty can

i know i was quitting
but not immediately
if i did that i'd get mad
i was more myself with a cigarette

the lighter clicks
for my cherry scented stick of white
i'd take two per two days
three if i'm extra pathetic
i meander through my thoughts while i stand
like running through a road without lifting your feet
the little details hurtle around

on how blue the grass is
on how tall the sky grew
compared to the last time i was there
on how organized the ants go about
compared to the giant beside them
the smoke was whiter than the clouds
that covered a pleasant day

i stood like i was waiting
not for anything or anyone
but waiting
maybe for the rain
or a car
or that high i paid for
the loser smoked because his life was garbage
laying on the floor to be feasted by insects
i feel my life was not right
only because i knew it felt wrong
i must have tasted it before to know the difference

was it the times that school ended
was it the weekends between work
or that afternoon with a girl
or the **** we had after
was it the memory of a feeling
who's images were forgotten
but lingers nonetheless
was it from a child, or a lover,
or a drunk chainsmoker
was it even real
or true

the stick was left to its dead inch
the wait was over
and i parted from the ants