I watch the tendrils of smoke wrap themselves around my fingers, loving them, kissing every small pore. I want to smell like smoke. I want it to be obvious I did something unhealthy and I want you to judge me for it. I want you to see - I'm proud of the wrongdoing.
I watch the streetlights flicker, see the emptiness across the roads as the people sprawl across their half-empty beds, burdened with the lull of dream scape. I hold to the wind as it chills my bones and let it take my thoughts higher than all this. I want to be down near the water, soaked through my skin; I want to be cold, frigid, and have my senses heightened. I want to feel everything in a heightened state of awareness.