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Uncomfortable Commonalities
It's late
It's almost tomorrow
And I sit here trapped with my thoughts.
Smoking will not drift my mind so far
But it will do for the rest of today.
It'll make me queasy
But reflections made easy
When this socially acceptable
Form of self harm
Gives prospects to means to an end.
Perched in this square, silent air rushing in.
The air that is commonly stagnant.
I'll lay here for hours, living for its sake
And revel in the discomfort of silence.
This company I keep, is actually just borrowed
In search of something substantial.
No one shares these numb hours
And thus we are alone.
