Remnants of a Lost Friday

Watching shaking hands with detached curiosity as I try to light another cigarette - swearing when the lighter falls from my hand and hits the hardwood floor, splintering, and I watch as the liquid oozes into the cracks of the wood like the drops of blood that rise to the surface when I plunge the needle into the vein for a moment of bliss, surrendering sanity in slow deluge, chased down with a shot of something strong and making none of it matter anymore - pulling the needle from the vein and making the tears that once carved lines down my cheeks and the smiles that made my jaw ache meaningless until the final question is asked and I trash the remainder in the name of that which I don't believe.