Smoke. Draining out of my
Heaving lungs. It does not go
Steadily, but alike to that of a
Steam engine. The rain masks
My tears and canvases the floor
Onto which my cancer falls,
Extinguished by the tread of my
Shoe.

Would it be wrong?
I start to walk again, and cars
Drive by. Before I walk into the park
I attract the misguided
Attention of some passers-by
Who stare judgementally at my arms.
They know nothing at
All.

I move into the park. When I was
Three Janet pulled me aside,
Pushed me to the ground. Her
Dirty fists and palms beat into
Me because of my failures and my
Imperfections. I cry at my faults
And my wrongdoings. She hits me
Harder.

A stretch of gravel, bound by sadistic lengths
Of steel and wood. I step onto them in
The dark. I calm my heavy breaths.
My thoughts drift back on Janet. My
First kiss. I pull another fag from my pocket
And as I watch the train channelling
salvation towards me I
Smoke.