Sense

Flick! Flick! Whoosh…warmth…lingers.
A tall, pointed haze; mesmerising blaze.

Middle between ring and index between middle and index embrace a crisp white cylinder of solace.

Offered up this container of slow, painful death gripped by the lips is prone.
The subtle orange glow drifts toward
the awaiting column.

Dry cries of consumed matter
dissolve…inhale…….the red eye winks at the night….exhale.

An all-consuming cloud floods the air,
throat caught up in a sultry tingle:
the process freezing time to a slow crawl…
this toxic atmosphere a vacuum aside from the buzz of activity.
An oasis.

I imagine it to feel this way; the lungs’ pain is the mind’s retreat.

Inhale..swirl…exhale. Repeat.

Comments

  1. The way you described it makes it seem almost romantic. I’m craving one now.

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