Slow burn

I take a detour, my pace as slow as I could manage. I fathom on the idea of two legs swinging simultaneously carrying a mast and a sail; my torso, my shirt. Seafoam green, rippling as I walked, beleaguered and downcast. It pulls me away from the way home.

Songs gush in my ears, scrambled. They didn’t make me feel anything tonight. I used to be happy about the things that happened. But not tonight.

My cigarette crackle as I sucked in long and deep. I imagine my throat glow as bright as the tip of the cigarette, burning, scorching. It was as if my insides are being scraped with a peeler. A stinging I got used to.

I am lost in the undertow: further, farther.