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After quitting for the fourth time
Because nicotine and sadness (mixed
Artfully with notes of narcissus)
Form an exquisite flavor.
Go ahead, wallow: you’ve earned it.
--And while you’re at it
Adios to your old friends
Happiness, creativity, hope and
(What the hell) hygiene.
Had it all figured out (again)
Until suddenly you didn’t (again).
Look at you now
So far off the path you can’t get back
Lost in a country with no laws
Save one: life isn’t fair.
You fumble with your failures
Picking them up
Looking them over
Tossing them away again.
There’s no explaining this
It just is.
Buddha would be pleased to see you
You take another cigarette to mark the hour
A twist of smoke for company
And write a new definition for self-pity.
You will call Webster’s in the morning
To submit this latest, saddest, most pathetic
Version of the phrase; your photo
Will occupy the space between “self” and “pity.”
Somewhere beyond 2AM you fall into sleep
Only to wake in the morning with nowhere to go
Nothing left to dream
No one to dream it with.
The world spins on without you, full
Of secrets it won’t tell
Dreams it won’t share
Visions that leave you at the edge
Of territory you never knew was out there
Let alone had maps for
Even if you’d wanted to go.