Cigarettes and Bedsheets

Oh fuck I'm tired.

Tired enough that my blood could become anesthetic.

I already know this exhaustion has done me in

And put me under.

.

I'm a stumbling mess,

Only seeing straight when the shock of adrenaline

From watching another sunrise

Is hot and fast in my veins.

.

I used to speak in pretty sentences,

Elegant ones stuffed to bursting with romantic sentiments

That made you laugh

At the stupidity.

.

Ah, but I'm lazy now

And it's all too easy to remember the blush

Covering your cheekbones

In the dark.

.

Do you miss the pretty sentences?

Or do you maybe miss the person who was saying them?

I don't know anymore really,

But it'd be nice to be missed.

.

After all the smoke

We shared between pressed lips and hungry breath

It'd be nice to think

I occupy part of you.

.

I can't tell if I can it more,

You or the cigarette smoke clouding something familiar.

Nah, it's the can of monster

And how bitter it made the night.

.

Monster made me sleep

But the cigarettes, your laugh, and the black abyss

Looking back at me

Let me sleep but now...

.

I can't fall asleep and Christ, I'm fucking tired.

Since the door slammed and we played blocked or not blocked,

I haven't managed to lift my eyes

Past half-mast.

.

Midnight doesn't make me sleepy

Like a loser who never stays up to see the day change.

Three a.m. doesn't make me dumb

With fatigue anymore.

.

Now it's the cumulative.

The day-after-day grind of watching nightfall and dawn

With the same dull face

Wondering if it'll fade to black soon.

.

Sleep is probably gone like you then,

Stuck on the back of some stormcloud growing big and black

Like the bad dreams

That always find me when I do sleep.

.

Ah, but these bedsheets, grey like you like, are cool.

They're ice against fevered skin and I think I could lay here a bit,

Soak inside the ice

And smoke a cigarette.

.

I think I could get lost in the smoke trails

And convince myself that I'll see you again in some midnight parking lot,

When the world flips over, of course.

Because then the impossible will make sense.

.

But there wouldn't be a surprise.

No flashing lights or useless bullshit talk about how I didn't expect this.

Just a sardonic huff.

Like we knew it was coming.

_________________________________________

Another poem in the "Cigarettes Series" that I'm doing. You can check out the rest below! It's been a while since I've done this, so enjoy!

Others in the series:

Cigarettes and Wildfires

Cigarette and Placeholder Dreams

Cigarettes and Cheap Highs

Cigarettes and Car Rides

Cigarettes and Blood Lust

Cigarettes and Empty Thoughts