Cigarette in my left hand and a pen in my right,I am drifting through smoke swirling words in the night and the letters catch light as they flow from the page and the stage is all set but the exodus finds me alone in this attic.
Now static
now mobile,alive somewhat docile but burrowing in files for something I can't find.In my mind there's a triptych which tricks me,the opponent that licks me each time that we fight,
In the smoke of the night where the firelight still warms me and the words that I write serve only to warn me of an impending doom,she
sits in another room and waits for the ink to dissolve,for me to make a resolve to be involved.
Involved only with ink
stains
I can't think, she fries my brains
so I light one more cigarette and in the blue rings I blow,I know,
I
write only to forget.