Poetry

Searching for my Cigarettes

Dec. 17, 2009

Every hour of everyday is spent searching for something…
shambling toward an ever changing destination, only to find
that the closer i get, the farther away it seems.
everyday is a circle whose diameter shrinks with my hope.
this cigarette, this hit, this person, these occupations
are all just buying me time until i discover some truth
over and over until my lungs turn black and my heart grows cold.

I know that i will never find it. yet still,
my soul is screaming for something more
like the itch on your back that would go away
if only you could stop scratching it.
I’ve been scratching for a long time now,
and my back is really starting is to chafe.

I’ve wasted too much time looking over my shoulder
holding on for dear life trying not to grow older.
I’m beginning to think that life is simply the search.
if the journey is the destination then there is no destination
for we are eternally bound to the earth,
to life, to suffering.
cursed are we searching for meaning. knowing that
only when we expire will our journey bear fruit.
for then we will truly know if we are right or wrong,
or if there is an answer at all.
until then…we are simply exposition.

And so I search, not knowing what for
and hoping that when opportunity knocks
i won’t be too stoned to answer the door.

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