hanging out

excuse me.

 excuse me, but i only caught the last
word you said. the rest were just
high and low notes that mingled
with the smoke i thoughtlessly
exhale, ignored like the heady
scent of a pungent perfume.
i took a sip of the coffee with
a dreamy name for fear of
succumbing again into the
already familiar landscape that
we create. but the coffee, like
the cigarette, won't kick it for me.
i'm desperately hoping you'd
start singing of the apocalypse,
or pull out a knife and stab me
in the heart and maybe, just maybe,
i'd feel a rush, a gush, excitement
...anything. anything if only to
to feel something other than
this fear of feeling nothing.
but the world remains settled,
unstirred, machine-like in its
business of killing time. i dangerously
arched my back and waited for a
bone to break. nothing. i held my
breath instead and prayed for
something to snuff but still it would
not come. the thought that we'd  be
doing this forever doesn't make me
cry, or think of crying. i light up
another stick and emptied the cup
and i'm thinking what a wonderful life
this life is. this life we make. 

you and i.

.

.

hanging out

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