I light it up just to break the silence. The sound of the sulfur dust flicking off the match, lighting up a narrow path between my reflection and I. ‘All that matters I can see’, I said, ‘right between my fingers and the floor’. So revealing is the natural fact that a shadow can always outgrow you, unless you’re lying on the floor, burning in your own flames.

Particles of smoke filling up the void between us now. ‘Clarity is overrated’, I lied to myself. ‘Let the rising tides of tar bury every figment of bullshit I have swallowed’.

I’ll put it out and move on. It’ll be another time frame to sleep through, another void, another recycled stub bleeding out a mixture of ashes and tobacco. Another thing kicked cruelly when it’s down. They think they’ll make you stronger, wiser; that you’ll eventually outgrow that lurking shadow, but what do they know?! That red fucking layer of rust ain’t necessarily covering a silver coin.

Bullshit, bullshit… and a bit more.

Solid? Yeah well…

I used to think that a match can only burn so much, but everything melts at some point.

I’ll inhale the smoke just to be able to feel something again…

even if that something is eating at my lungs.