I try not to think too much
they say it's bad for you
so I sit around smoking rolled cigarettes
and reading several books at a time
I don't write unless I am inspired to
and I don't go out often, because
usually there is nothing to do,
and sometimes, peoples company
bothers me more than solitude
so I learned to make a friend
out of the four walls
you are going to be around
yourself for the rest of your life
so
you
better
get used to it
Anyway
there are
worse things
than being alone
and the sooner you learn that the better
but sometimes the four walls
start to stare back
and close in
and when that happens
I like to think of all the beautiful things
like an evergreen forest
after the first snowfall
with a pair of footprints
leading to a lonely frozen lake
or
my insomnia
as you sleep, peacefully next to me
with your hair fanned across the sheets,
an ode to randomness
And even though you're gone now
your smell remains,
for now at least
though I don't miss you
like I don't miss that scab
I picked off this
morning
but sometimes I think of you.
I light a cigarette
and write one more line
as
the
walls
close
in