Lost_and_fallen
October 25th, 2007, 06:57 PM
This is a metaphorical cigarette.
I quit smoking a long time ago now, and yet I'm sat here with a packet.
I'm not sure how it got into my palm, let alone how it got open. Now all the little brown tips are staring at me pointedly. I can't quite decide if they're looking at me with distaste at this act of weakness or in annoyance at having been abandoned for so long.
But, regardless of the how's and why's and when's, I am here. And my lighter is sparking, and I'm rolling over to the prospect of killing my lungs a little more.
But wait. You almost forgot. This is a metaphor.
This little bundle of ramblings is really about depression. The way it comes and goes, ebbs and flows, ebbs and flows.. I'm just driftwood really.
Perhaps it's just the winter nights getting me down ((making me hurt, break, shake, sob)). But this all feels far too familiar for Jack Frost's work alone at my heart, it must be more than that.
So once again, I'll be bending over backwards to suit the whims of my constant unhappiness. I thought you'd be here to scare it away with my bad dreams but, despite you sharing my bed, I'm cold.
This is why I'm here, legs dangling from my window ledge, my lips slowly turning saphire blue as they caress this metaphorical cigarette.
I'm not going to fight anymore, I'm just going to inhale. Let the unhappiness ebb and flow with your affections.
I quit smoking a long time ago now, and yet I'm sat here with a packet.
I'm not sure how it got into my palm, let alone how it got open. Now all the little brown tips are staring at me pointedly. I can't quite decide if they're looking at me with distaste at this act of weakness or in annoyance at having been abandoned for so long.
But, regardless of the how's and why's and when's, I am here. And my lighter is sparking, and I'm rolling over to the prospect of killing my lungs a little more.
But wait. You almost forgot. This is a metaphor.
This little bundle of ramblings is really about depression. The way it comes and goes, ebbs and flows, ebbs and flows.. I'm just driftwood really.
Perhaps it's just the winter nights getting me down ((making me hurt, break, shake, sob)). But this all feels far too familiar for Jack Frost's work alone at my heart, it must be more than that.
So once again, I'll be bending over backwards to suit the whims of my constant unhappiness. I thought you'd be here to scare it away with my bad dreams but, despite you sharing my bed, I'm cold.
This is why I'm here, legs dangling from my window ledge, my lips slowly turning saphire blue as they caress this metaphorical cigarette.
I'm not going to fight anymore, I'm just going to inhale. Let the unhappiness ebb and flow with your affections.