Cigarettes and Regrets

This poem is about feeling stuck, held back by my chronic pain.

I'm finished with cigarettes,

still chock full of regrets.

Part of me doesn't believe in change,

only in the wild and strange.

I'm looking at my brain unfurled

and I'm begging to join the real world.

Something holds me, my back bent,

the spaces in my vertebra held with cement.

Will I ever take flight?

And will I ever look at the world without spite?