on the worst breakup of my life

Smoking fills a void.

I don't know what to say.Smoke. I need a break from conversation. From the presence of people. I need to collect my thoughts. Smoke, smoke, smoke.

Where do I put my hands? Smoke. Am I talking too much? Smoke. Is this the right thing to say? Smoke. I wish I was more carefree, gonzo,unafraid. Smoke, smoke.

I'm bored. Smoke.

I need a reward for just getting out of bed today, let alone dealing with this shit. Smoke. I'm getting older all the time. Smoke. I want to stay hip. Smoke, smoke, smoke, smoke.

I'm clumsy, in words and movements. But I can smoke. And smoke. And smoke- elegantly. Bette Davis style. Using my hands and the curls of tar to punctuate my words. Using the smoke, breathing myself out in a puff so eloquently, so perfectly, so well compared to how I do so many other things.

Smoke. Thick in the lung, smooth in the throat. Blue. Delicious.

Any brand. The package blank would be the best. A cigarette holder. I hate logos. Smoke. Smoke.

Smoke. Rolled while chatting. Snapped up out a pocket. Flipped up out of a pack with a certain careless grace, into the mouth, then lit with a flourish of high fire and sideways smirk. Smoke.

Gripped and suckled and put to bed in the ashtray with the other dead ends. Giving me excuses to be outside, away from the crush. Enriching the flavor of beer, ale, coffee, wine. Red wine and a cigarette, livid red liquids and pale grey air. Filling my pocket. Punctuating my day. Gripping my tonsils and easing my mind. Giving me an easy out, a sure thing, a reliable if untrustworthy sidekick, a reason, an excuse.

Smoke.

Gum? Tastes like wax. Toothpicks? Don't you watch House? I tend to swallow them. What I put in my mouth-it's not the oral fixation. It's the devouring that makes it satisfying. Devouring it with lungs, breath. Not to play with or chew on or suck on. To devour, to consume.

Smoke, smoke, smoke.

I've never been an adult without smoke. I'm not sure what to do now. What do you do?

Water tastes bad. Don't suggest it; I drink as much as I can stomach already. Food? Yes. Can't eat every hour. The stomach rebels; the intestines quiver; the poop is foul. Exercise? Not likely. Yoga is even gone now- without smoke the breathing is shallow, the lungs not yet clear- It's no fun to clean a body that has no toxins to clear.

What the fuck do you people do all day?! I like to take a break. I like to smoke.

How can you discuss the future, art, literature, philosophy, without it? The lack of smoke- makes my brain feel fuzzed, gone dim at the edges. Smoke. Clarity, sharpness. What?

What do I do now?