collections 5:8

A shower, a cigarette, and a cup of coffee... is there any better way to die tonight? War exists around me, rampant like the drugs and debauchery that pass through my home on a daily basis. I can't go a day without wishing I had shades on my window to block out the arrogant sun, whose rays burn though my room to stain the dark circles beneath my eyes two shades brighter than two in the afternoon. So after spending a day looking for something to cry about, waiting for something to break my heart, and listening to the wind for something... else... I slipped into the bathroom and let the warm water cascade over me like a leaking submarine foundering into the Indian Ocean. It smooths out the rough edges of my hands, like those dotted with bites and splinters placed on too many hearts and too many heads. As I step out, breathing out steam I breathe in smoke through tip of a cigarette, letting it coat my lungs like my problems with a tar of nerve easing nicotine as I sip my coffee and feel my kidneys tighten like my lips at its bitterness. These are evenings spent in solace, my escapism to slip through the oppression of individuality that seems to birth from the disatisfaction of their own natures. Am I the last person who believes that people should live and let live? If that were true, I wouldn't imagine picking up a gun on the day when I would be forced to fight for my beliefs. I guess I just think that the only thing worth fighting for has to be really meaningful, something so meaningful that you'd die for it. Like life itself. I'm not much of a humanitarian, but I guess I believe everyone should have a right to live. In the world, genocide goes on regularly and yet, the American media averts its eyes to some stupid musician or actor, because they're so much prettier than the blood that spills in homes and on streets of lands that were once no different from our own. The American Empire has become a society of consumerism and even here, there're inner city refugees trying to push their way out of the slums that they were born into, albeit with a gun pressed to their cerebelum and the hammer drawn back. So who can blame kids for picking up guns, especially when they've become so available for any person, young or old, boy or girl, straight or gay... to pick one and up and aim into a crowd, not because they hate anyone... but because they can no longer live with the apathy of the populace. When you remember that this world is just a series of individuals with their own goals and agendas, you have to to wonder where you or I fit into this scenario. Will you stand back and let the quiet consume the masses while enjoying your showers, your coffees, and your cigarettes? Will you speak up when someone is finally in need, designating your time for their benefit? Or will you be the one who picks up the gun when no one will be there for you.

I need a cigarette just thinking about it.