Broken Records and Last Cigarettes

Broken record playing the same chopped-up chorus on repeat. The words spin closer together with every turn. I’m down to my last cigarette. It’s not the last or first last cigarette I’ve ever had. I’ve quit and started the same number of times. I don’t need the substance; I need to feel more substantial. There is nothing but a backdrop when your last cigarette is in your mouth. “Smoke them if you’ve got them” there is no shame living a cliché. Personally, I prefer the lazy satisfaction of being no different from anyone else. Impersonal repetition follows after the struggle to go on ends. No one cares if you’re stuck, they care that you spin. That you’re entrenched as deeply as they are in their habits. But let’s not fantasize of being free for we would all find our way back into the ruts were stuck in. Each individually self-centered, accessing the collective by way of our own. Distorted assholes whose best moments are spent alone. Time is on our side, but time always turns. I’ll smoke my last cigarette and watch you all fade while it burns. My mantra is simple, and I do what I do when its over for me life will continue. Another scratch in the record, jammed up and playing the same chorus over and again. Another final cigarette, a long sigh. I’m dead set on getting high and I live on being low. Tell me everything you told me the last time you thought you knew me.