tipping

smoking a cigarette
staring along past the leafless trees
out into inner space
numb seemingly dead

in this moment
removed away towards a never land
just somewhere I am not
where no one is

my head is pounding
the blood rushing around
in all the wrong places
scratching the soft membrane

I think about not caring
the luxury of this, perhaps
sells its self better than the reality
which is not chosen

I wonder if the balance will tip
fall the other side in a glance
forcing me to face myself
my actual death