The cigarette burned slower today like even it didn’t want to rush into the dark. The blue lagoon numbed my hand, but I was sweating hard. The cough grew stronger, each pull swifter, each drag strangely benevolent. The sinus filled up. What’s left to breathe but foggy twirls rising from ashes beneath dissociating thoughts of hearts, thumping the skull, masking the art. The normalcy of the moment strikes mid-thorax. The abdomen growls , a hunger vortex, where soupy noodles contaminate my lungs over the cloudy dusk of nauseous lust. I walk, over tripped candles, broken glass, and the tardy lantern. Calloused palms in a fury, searching for the best chopsticks for the J-shaped trooper. Not a single eye to bother, as the stains leave decorum for the morning chirpers. Then red.- now maroon. Ugh. This dirty, bloody lagoon. O’, but more to hold than ashes and colored water these body sores, trailing malodor.