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Cigarette Man

I try to push away she said As I lit my cigarette in hand The gleam from the fire made my eyes squint and gave me a sub version of her face. All I glimpsed was red bitten lips and black stained skin that trailed from her eyes; I guess from that mascara or eyeliner whatever the hell you women wear. Push away..? From what? I thought Hmmm I'm really not interested. I just wanted to smoke and watch some hopeless girls dance. That's right, hopeless; Men don't come here to watch a seven find a way to grab some dollar bills without her hands. We get to see that there is someone out there that make us feel better, cause we got dealt the better hand, they just happen to have a sweet face and nice pair...sometimes... So could I have one? she said to me I was so gone and dazed that I forgot she had spoken to me before. Have what I said She stared at the lit white duke in my hand. I lingered there with eyes glossed from my buddies Jim, Jack, Johnny and Jose; Those boys sure like to ride those horses... Are you even old eno- ah what do I care. I hand her a one out of ten cancer stick, her cracked lips pucker as she holds and looks to me for a light. The fire waves hello and goodbye quickly and we're back in the musk of things. Not much for caring are you honey? she seem to mumbled with a disdained smile Without a beat I told her: I'm not your savior baby You've been watching your own time And God only knows when that hand is going to stop at five I'm not your lover darling That hand's only clinging wine And no man likes a sober woman, but no drunk woman be mine I'm not your father lady It's seems that guidance has gone and kept you lost But it seems your mothers words you've tuned out or have shaped them boxed And with that I took a lost drag and started walking out the door, and as I looked back at her she sat there still not knowing, not knowing what she's living for...

Copyright © | Year Posted 2011




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Date: 3/7/2011 11:20:00 PM
Thank you for the encouragement. At first that article was something I thought Jim Morrison might write if he was alive. It took awhile to realize that's how I saw myself at the time. self-loathing is a family trait. It comes natural. I have done some things recently that has made my words fit me perfectly. Your words are kind nevertheless.
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