Like Smoke


The numbness is pervasive like smoke. It is fast moving silk. Sensual. Smooth.

And I chase memories. Ones I'm not sure I'd like to catch.

 I can still feel the heat in his cheeks, lingering and burning like smoke.

My throat is raw. The smoke refuses to leave.

It is stained like a tattoo.

I cannot exhale. My tongue bleeds.

              I am a ghost like smoke.

Red glowing lava,

            light it up, smoke.

Somebody's angry in the other room.

I cough.

Something is tattooed into my arm, my skin.

Invisible like smoke permeating my skin; it’s dark.

He's still angry, about something.

Or lonely,

I think.            (What can I do?)

I am far away again.

 Smoke again.

The lighter clicks and rolls beneath my thumb. The skin has thickened purple.

And I am still dark:

Gray like smoke, a born nomad wandering through the sky amongst the

stars and air, a foreigner everywhere, inhaling smoke, trying to breathe.

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