The dark blue blubs illuminate
The shadows of the basement.
Smashed, bashed, crushed, into the wall,
I retreat from the crowd.
Smash! The cymbals crash, smashed:
A little too much to drink,
Crushed into the ground:
The cigarette dies under my foot.
Inhale, exhale, flick goes my lighter.
The white ctick held between my lips,
Hold up the flame, inhale slowly.
In come the cancer causing chemicals,
Out go my troubles on a cloud of smoke.
Hidden in the shadows of the club,
As a veiled nun hides behind her habit;
I wonder why porblems can't be like smoke.
Why can't they disappear and disintegrate
Into second hand smoke,
Becoming second hand problems.
Someone else's problems.
I watch as the couple in the corner
Dry hump their way to ecstasy.
Get a room or I will be forced into
Some kind of genital beheading
Always an observer,
Never the observed.
I take a last deadly puff and watch
As the smoke encircles my head,
Creating the illusion of a halo
That disappears with the first light breeze.
The temporary angel
Trudges reluctantly
Towards the light.
