Spectating from a window with air that smells safe,
people form together in a particular place.
Crowded around cold but significant,
offering up gestures while sharing something of dangerous old.
Draw-back on that warm, soft stick;
encapsulating moments that make others sick.
Foggy air filled with tar
helps display a moment of intensified relief.
Saturated bloodstream now filled with a treat.
Minds look settled;
your muscles feel deflated.
At ease with yourself, beyond a tranquil state.
Killing yourself, but you know it’s too late
because ignorance is your humble fate.
Accept it now.
Go to sleep.
The suffering may start soon.
Don’t fill your world with gloom.
Sun in my window, it’s getting a little late.
You’ll be back tomorrow;
I can wait.