Smoke Skin

The smell of cigarette smoke on a cold autumn night wafts through the air, twisting and turning throughout every lock of hair with every exhale.  The night air mixing with the taste of nicotine in my throat makes me burn with the desire to kiss someone, to let them taste how I feel - bittersweet.  I can't lie - I miss her.

Sometimes I wonder if I just miss her presence, if I miss nothing more than her masquerade as my friend, more than I miss having someone who truly cared.  No matter what I'm longing for, however, what's missing from me is compassion.  I desire a romance that turns into a deep need for love.

I hunger for the drop of equivalency I lack in all but false-kin; my chosen family so to speak.  "Desire me not," I whisper in a voice that is not mine, but feels more like my own.  As I speak, carbon dioxide mixes with smoke and drifts where God wafts it through the wind, hoping to smell that sweet, man-made sin.  I've bothered not with a jacket on this cold November midnight.  I'm too numb to feel the cold stings of the night air.  The smell is all that I care for anymore; the smell of stars, cigarettes, and wind.

"Is this broken body loveable?" I wonder aloud, dragging again slowly, momentarily forgetting to breathe.  I lose myself in this moment, and only poetry comes to mind.  I let my jaw bounce in song with my vocal chords, the words flowing like a river of lyrics.  A quiet ballad, a melody only an acoustic guitar can relate to.

Smoke rolls softly on wet skin, and through teardrops and eyelashes, the smoke plagues my nostrils.  For a moment I let the smell intoxicate me, poisoning me with nicotine colored memories.  My ballad is the movie's soundtrack, stopped short by a tearful skipping track.  "You will find love, you will find love, you will find love."

The smoke dances to my words, disappearing in my absence of breath.  The salt of tears has captured my tongue, and the sobs of silence are all there is left to comfort me in this lonely abyss.  Might there be a happy ending to my suffering?  "I will wait," I comfort myself, "Patience is a virtue."

Author's Note

PICTURE NOT MINE.