This, now.

A ring of smoke curls up,
Between my fingers,
slightly shaking fingers,
losing the will to bring
the stick to my lips again.

THe blue smoke curls and spirals,
spirals up and into the heavens,
antagonising my life,
which just goes the other way.
falling, falling away.

Ash clings to my clothes,
which haven't been washed,
not in days, smelling
of rotting promises,
and reeking of bad choices.

Waking from another nightmare
Chasing the dreams away,
A routine that screams,
pleads to be thrown away.
By my still shaking fingers.

Flying under the blue, poison moon,
drinking away a salty taste,
It's my blood that reeks,
with the scent of cowardice.
Still denying that I ran.

I shoult till i am blue,
blue like the moon,
shout at whoever will listen,
but noone does, noone bothers,
Perhaps it is indeed wrong?