Cigarette, the love story

[Zen]

They say it’s been awhile, and how much time has passed. I nod and say, “Yes, it has. We’ll have to catch up later, man.”

I try to avoid chasing pasts, but somehow they always make it back and fool me into thinking they’ll last.

Still, I don’t know better.

Nothing survives forever intact.

You can’t capture youth. You’re just old, and think you’re cool. You’ve become a slave, and that’s something no one made you do. That comes with age, but your cage is nothing new. You’ve felt it all your life, but hoped maybe it wasn’t true. Those feelings don’t die, they just hide inside of you, and you only find them when your lies start showing through.

And as much as you try, you can’t hide them once they do.

The sad part of life is that it’s fine without you. So, what’s the point in trying when you’re dying no matter what you do? The hard part is finding that something in your life that you’ll love until you die.

But that something’s still hiding.

After a couple of beers, it’ll be mine.

Where did the time go, I wonder, but no one knows. After this glass I’ll know, I suppose.

I’m alone in this crowd (like a cliché) trying to hold in this crown (I haven’t eaten today). I have moments of doubt, but I try to sleep them away. Normally Heineken helps me find my dream state so I can see that smiling, sweetest face, only to wake up crying, “Why’d you leave me, Babe!?”

But you’ve already heard this before, and there’s more to my life. Like the time I dropped acid in the morning time, laying in a field mourning a suicide. I wish I could save her, but, yeah, there’s more to life. Of course I try to love, but why? Because substance is rare in a normal life.

Until that substance is heroine and she snorts and dies.

But you’ve already heard this before. By now this all is just a bore.

I'm starting to think it’ll take a couple more.

Cigarette, the love story,

up you go in smoke where you’ll echo through eternity as the memory only I know, and when I die, I hope, we’ll look back with the eyes of a ghost laughing at life like it’s a joke.

Until that time,

I’ll bide my own.

Zen