tight-rope walking

ashing my cherry cigarette gives birth to fireflies at night...i smoke out of the same window...doing everything in my capacity to avoid the wall next door...i think about my life, wish i had love, and hope for the next solution to surface...to save me from nihilism and negativity...if i had more time to contemplate my current displacement...i'm sure that the tears will fall with great fluidity...but for now...i lay still with the sadness that is my prison...the cells that restrain my childish curiosity of alternate realities...the prison that disallows me to have time to think for myself...my mind belongs not to my sincerity but my obligation to my ignorance of freedom, to my prescribed notion of survival, and to the shitty paycheck that i cash so that i can repeat this ugly process...where is the hope?