Nicotine Air

The comfort of nicotine air comforts

My cloudy cocoon,

Wrapping me in a blanket of

Hazy smog.

Distorted but visible among the

Wisps of frozen jet streams.

Just the right atmosphere

For self-loathing.

A skill I've picked up and mastered

Like the starved learned not to


A bitter place, a small place,

Self-contained and beautiful.

I will think in circles.

Around a single point too

Painful to realize.

Like a never-ending carny ride

This mind will forever spin

Leaving no conclusion.

And I vomit memories

On this cognitive plate

I will remember nothing

But the overcooked calluses

That were too difficult to devour.

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