cigarette sadness (working title)

by Jonas Weaver

Cigarettes taste better with sadness.

Something about the sudden bitter buzz

and taste of shared spit on the butt sings

to the soul: gospel. Temporary relief will

always be better than timeless truths. Cause

at least it’s a fix to stop the bleeding, sometimes,

ironically, by bleeding. Cigarettes taste better with

the coughing lungs of a sad person not crying.

Who needs drink when you’ve got nicotine?

Who needs nicotine when you’ve got no one?

A lonely existence is still an existence full of

truth and sacrament. A lonely existence never

can be sad, truly, because isn’t living better

than dying? But aren’t we all fucking dying with

each breath? With each breath we take our next to last.

With each pull on the cigarette we eat more death

like Jesus and conquer it when we don’t keel over then

and there. Every moment a gospel of temporary relief

over death.

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