with absence of fact
and all the angles already used
for the attack
we sat there smoking his entire pack of cigarettes
in the room next door
the bed was creeking
and the panting breaths slowly
sneaking
the pleasure from the room.
we sat and laughed occationaly
in need of desperate rescue
"where's
my light
er?"
he says,
speech broken
by the
palpable silence
i comply, handing him his lighter
we sit and scowl a little
sighing occationally
drunk
"haha
haha
ha"
After the heavy
minutes
i ask myself in
my head,
"seriously,
what am i doing?
where am i going?"
uncertainty gives me it's motherly coushion
and i thank it
silently.
secretly.
i wanted to get the hell out of there.
but
with what's left of our energy
we laugh at
our lives
what else can
we do?
?
?
but thank god
we have our secrets
that we never tell ourselves
I've thought, hoped,
prayed, preyed
meditated, cried,
laughed, fought,
w a s a t p e a c e
about it
in different sections
of all my life
not that i've ever known
what
i am
doing
or where
i am going
but i am totally fine with that -
what fun is in a certain life?
eh?