Chain-smoking and Bad Coffee

The currents don't stop when night sets still;
and when it sweeps you by your feet,
and you tumble through the crashing,
and though the rocks will jab into your sides,
You will die in a chilling peace.

With a runny nose-
and firefly soft burn between my fingers and palm,
I have never wanted to throw myself into that raging river more than I do now.

Flicking my promised last lit rod into the white water,
I live out my desire through a bud.

With one last crinkled cigarette,
(the others in a bin nearby)
I lay it down on my nightstand,
(with no intention of being lit)
Yet saved for the early morning ahead,
where I can relight,
and burn anew.