A 10pm Stogie
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
It seems that every night when I go for my last stogue for the night, I imagine my future, I reflect on the past and present, (Take a drag) I examine every little bit of what life has to offer and finally…(exhale) I am confused.
Every time I lean on my window, staring at the stars, I feel empty. I have goals. I have ambitions and yet, I am not complete. Strange.
I know people would die to be in my shoes, or so they say. I tend to be quite radical with that. I’ve come across pretty good professional liars and I’ve learned my lesson. You see, TRUST is such a strong, liberating, profound word and yet, I take it for granted (one more drag, long deep release of smoke through my nasal canals and I feel high).
I wonder if my neighbors think I am crazy because I talk to myself. Hmmm…
Lost…
What am I doing with my life? (drag)
On the other hand, I'm fine. Content. true.(Exhale)
hmmm? (Drag)
Ha! And I always thought it was perfection. (Exhaling slowly, realizing that once again I am talking to myself: shit!)
I can only walk forward. Don’t look back, because it might just be what you don’t want to see.
What are the probabilities that I might be an editor? 1 out a 192837384978347565765389783? I work for Newsweek don’t I? Ok. 2 out of a 287324874378973458938797538.
Oh boy! What about a writer? Scratch that.
(Fighting for that one last bit of drag, perhaps it will be my omen)
(Exhale)
Every time I lean on my window, staring at the stars, I feel empty. I have goals. I have ambitions and yet, I am not complete. Strange.
I know people would die to be in my shoes, or so they say. I tend to be quite radical with that. I’ve come across pretty good professional liars and I’ve learned my lesson. You see, TRUST is such a strong, liberating, profound word and yet, I take it for granted (one more drag, long deep release of smoke through my nasal canals and I feel high).
I wonder if my neighbors think I am crazy because I talk to myself. Hmmm…
Lost…
What am I doing with my life? (drag)
On the other hand, I'm fine. Content. true.(Exhale)
hmmm? (Drag)
Ha! And I always thought it was perfection. (Exhaling slowly, realizing that once again I am talking to myself: shit!)
I can only walk forward. Don’t look back, because it might just be what you don’t want to see.
What are the probabilities that I might be an editor? 1 out a 192837384978347565765389783? I work for Newsweek don’t I? Ok. 2 out of a 287324874378973458938797538.
Oh boy! What about a writer? Scratch that.
(Fighting for that one last bit of drag, perhaps it will be my omen)
(Exhale)
I love my last stogie of the night. I swear I think things better when I am smoking. but I never think about how I am slowly killing my lungs.
Thanks Truth.com
yeah same here. most of my shit comes from me sitting on the roof of my house smoking up a storm.