cigaretta

My head is choked with cigarette smoke
and my heart races between each breath
it’s not like I remember

Nostalgia for darkness is a funny thing
without a laugh for my elbows
that bend and creak
under the habit of a lifetime

I want to say
oh god, I missed you
and fill my mind with ancient pleasantries
but déjà vu doesn’t work that way
and all I remember is the dead grass of a bus stop
my head hung low as I stared at the bitumen
the feeling in my breast one of empty resignation
and an unquenchable thirst for another acrid puff

I’m at a loss to find any comfort here
for I am not comforted by the sensation that claws its way
down my parchment throat
yellowing my fingertips and staining my lips
just like old times

There is no hello from one old friend to another
just a haze of lonely smoke that surrounds me
like a shroud at my own wake
as though it can hide me from the world

© Indie Adams 2012