Thursday, January 5, 2012


Outside I put the the cigarette in between my fingers and take deep drags on the cotton edge. As the smoke rushes in I hope it fills me up completely, cures that itch somewhere down there that I can’t help but not acknowledge. The smoke comes out and the itch is even more insatiable, so I scratch my arm until there’s blood dripping into the world, my unimaginably large hole. Before I know it, the fumes going into my lungs are cotton, and it's time to reenter the house.