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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
Eat.
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.
