Cigarette Houses

Cigarette houses in concrete jungles wait patiently for 9:15,

when the caffeine surges through the dark veins of civilians

desperately searching for a pick-me-up.

Baristas brew dark roast coffee,

its texture as clear as mud,

its flavor bold and vivacious,

its taste as homey and hearty as Peet’s

served in an oversized cup in the afternoon on an Autumn day.

Citizens trudge through Ashtray Road,

their faces lined with sleepless hours,

their capillaries purple and black from withdrawal,

their hands violently shaking.

The need overcomes the inhabiters,

their stomachs twisting, acidic,

filled with rancid ingredients shoved down their digestive  tracts.

Smoke fills their lungs with a reason to stop,

a reason to breathe free air

and sing without a rasp and a constant guttural tone.

They realize their flaws.

They notice their deadly imperfections,

their own death traps,

and yet they stop not for themselves

or their cigarette houses.

Still, they trudge on down the valley of ashes,

searching for their jolt,

the one simple pleasure that makes them feel alive,

they makes them feel real.

They prick their veins with caffeine needles

and feel the rush,

feel the power,

feel the warning signs.

 

Advertisements

On Getting Inked

I never would have pictured myself actually going through with this. I have heard so many people  warn of the pain and regret, the permanence. I have been warned of the stigma that is attached to each and every tattoo that is visible on your body, the judgement that is formed when you go to a job interview. But to me, these are awfully pitiful fears that society tries to instill in us, to prevent us from leading the lives we want to live, to prevent us from marking our bodies they way we want them to be marked. I want a tattoo to celebrate my hope and my joy and my pain. I want to celebrate every inch of my soul and show it to the world. I want to celebrate a feeling I have very recently began to discover, a feeling called happiness. And if that labels me as a degenerate, anything will.