A faint breath breathed in through my nose.
She barks.
I love her, even if I hate her bark.
I pull another slow drag off my cigarette. My lungs fill with regret as my ribs begin to ache.
The slow exhale races against the inevitable cough
It burns! The pain building at the base of my spine with each successive cough.
I feel a tingle at the base of my torso. A sensation I detest with every inch of my ailing body. The tingle transforms as it always has in the past.
Then comes the inevitable bolt of lightning shooting up from the base of my spine along the two sides of my vertebrae as liquid pours into my lungs from the microscopic tears these hard, loud coughs have forced open inside of me.
The feeling, which I cannot describe any more painfully or vividly than excruciating pain behind my ribs, is definitely something I would wish upon my enemies during an attack against me, but otherwise, I can't imagine desiring such cruel punishment against anybody capable of feeling such pain.
I'm crippled by the overwhelming sense of horror at the realization of what might be in store for my immediate future.
I fold over, barely maintaining my stance, and grasp my open palm against the wall, clinging with the friction of my skin, sweaty and oily, against it's barren surface in hopes of overcoming the weakening shaking of my foundations.
Another cough escapes, abandoning me, as it's pain overwhelms me.
I lean against the wall with more of my weight, clutching the base of my rib cage with my right forearm, palm open and squeezing the opposite side.
I stumble out onto the balcony, allowing the brick exterior to guide me onto her fence-protected concrete surface.
I spit the brown tar I just finished enjoying on the cement floor. The bright tints of red subtly suggest I pursue a different hobby, though the timing seems a little late in my internal dialogue's sarcastic opinion.
The cigarette slips away from me, marking its path against the side of my finger, claimed by the cold stone, as I try to straighten out my body and rise back up, feeling the dizziness strengthen as I regret the decision to step further away from communications to emergency help back inside the apartment.
My bones empty as my posture curves my spine into submission.
The pain sends another cough filled with blood down the brick wall to my right as my fingers maintain the force of my fall.
I find myself on my left knee as my right begins to submit.
Another playful bark. So young and so stupid. She'll never be a smoker. Her demise rests in the bags of cardboard nutrition I force feed her with little remorse and even less consideration.
She licks new light into my cheek now that I have dropped onto all fours. Her playfulness indicative of her misunderstanding, understandable for a my young puppy love.
With a snappy bark and another lick, I bounce back up on my feet.
I kick my nemesis away as she continues to burn and smoke three flights down to the sidewalk entrance of my building. I know she will return, for her absence is but only temporarily; she will soon have control of my thoughts, my needs, my desires, my finances, my loves.
Ironic how I pretend to have some measure of control, when in truth, she keeps my desires focused on her, over any other thoughts, my senses, my every need dictated and provided by the roots of her temptation.
The pain, exiting as quickly as it had entered, drags me one step deeper into my depression as I gasp one last time to fill my lungs with the city’s malnourishing gases.
The cough, a subtle reminder of her poisonous potential, as I pull the pack out of my pocket and drop it onto the concrete floor, the roof of my neighbor's balcony below. She seems curious of the burning device; another bark directed at the pack.
Happy little dog; not a care in the world; the positive light in the darkest of cities.
She barks.
I love her, even if I hate her bark.
I pull another slow drag off my cigarette. My lungs fill with regret as my ribs begin to ache.
The slow exhale races against the inevitable cough
It burns! The pain building at the base of my spine with each successive cough.
I feel a tingle at the base of my torso. A sensation I detest with every inch of my ailing body. The tingle transforms as it always has in the past.
Then comes the inevitable bolt of lightning shooting up from the base of my spine along the two sides of my vertebrae as liquid pours into my lungs from the microscopic tears these hard, loud coughs have forced open inside of me.
The feeling, which I cannot describe any more painfully or vividly than excruciating pain behind my ribs, is definitely something I would wish upon my enemies during an attack against me, but otherwise, I can't imagine desiring such cruel punishment against anybody capable of feeling such pain.
I'm crippled by the overwhelming sense of horror at the realization of what might be in store for my immediate future.
I fold over, barely maintaining my stance, and grasp my open palm against the wall, clinging with the friction of my skin, sweaty and oily, against it's barren surface in hopes of overcoming the weakening shaking of my foundations.
Another cough escapes, abandoning me, as it's pain overwhelms me.
I lean against the wall with more of my weight, clutching the base of my rib cage with my right forearm, palm open and squeezing the opposite side.
I stumble out onto the balcony, allowing the brick exterior to guide me onto her fence-protected concrete surface.
I spit the brown tar I just finished enjoying on the cement floor. The bright tints of red subtly suggest I pursue a different hobby, though the timing seems a little late in my internal dialogue's sarcastic opinion.
The cigarette slips away from me, marking its path against the side of my finger, claimed by the cold stone, as I try to straighten out my body and rise back up, feeling the dizziness strengthen as I regret the decision to step further away from communications to emergency help back inside the apartment.
My bones empty as my posture curves my spine into submission.
The pain sends another cough filled with blood down the brick wall to my right as my fingers maintain the force of my fall.
I find myself on my left knee as my right begins to submit.
Another playful bark. So young and so stupid. She'll never be a smoker. Her demise rests in the bags of cardboard nutrition I force feed her with little remorse and even less consideration.
She licks new light into my cheek now that I have dropped onto all fours. Her playfulness indicative of her misunderstanding, understandable for a my young puppy love.
With a snappy bark and another lick, I bounce back up on my feet.
I kick my nemesis away as she continues to burn and smoke three flights down to the sidewalk entrance of my building. I know she will return, for her absence is but only temporarily; she will soon have control of my thoughts, my needs, my desires, my finances, my loves.
Ironic how I pretend to have some measure of control, when in truth, she keeps my desires focused on her, over any other thoughts, my senses, my every need dictated and provided by the roots of her temptation.
The pain, exiting as quickly as it had entered, drags me one step deeper into my depression as I gasp one last time to fill my lungs with the city’s malnourishing gases.
The cough, a subtle reminder of her poisonous potential, as I pull the pack out of my pocket and drop it onto the concrete floor, the roof of my neighbor's balcony below. She seems curious of the burning device; another bark directed at the pack.
Happy little dog; not a care in the world; the positive light in the darkest of cities.