The Smokey Life
This is where
the mouth meets the fire,
this is where the ashes
refuse to die.
This is you,
the nicotine
that keeps me hooked,
this is me,
the clueless unsuccessful quitter.
This is them,
the killers of everyday innocence.
The papers call them tragedies,
the raped, the burnt, the dead.
This is what we see,
sheets and sheets of trash
on the bedroom window.
This is today,
where I refuse to belong.
This is yesterday,
when everything was clean and clear.
This is tomorrow,
an addict's desperate attempt
to let go of old easy habits
caught on in times declared
'oh so terrible'
by the ubiquitous them.
Comments
i love that picture.
Choose, they crooned, the ancient ones.
The time has come again.
Choose now, they croon beneath the moon,
Beside an ancient lake.
Enter again the sweet forest,
enter the hot dream,
come with us.
Everything is broken up, and dances.
and i'm guessing that's morrison?
i too am one of them. measuring my life from one lit end to the other. a hopeless, morbid calculation of remaining seconds.