#807-Tomorrow

Lines,

Living by fading colors.

Segments,

Covered in blemishes.

Chaotic,

As strange dreams.

Cold sandwiches.

Stale coffee.

Hotel rooms without windows,

And two lumpy pillows.

Cold beers.

But not enough.

Suck Ventolin.

Go outside.

Light a cigarette.

Sharp stares land.

But they don’t understand.

Inhale deeply.

It burns.

Who cares.

It feels good.

As long as seconds pass.

Nothing else matters.

Not right now.

Let it burn.

Tomorrow’s far away.