They drift quickly, yet silently.

The thoughts. (smoke visions)

Like the pictures you can sometimes pick out
in the smoke of a campfire, or a cigarette.


Damn this house.
Too bright in the day to be a comeforting cave,
too empty at night to be a home.


And why, would any fool come here?


For a love fleeting,
that fled, as soon as the roots dug in.


And I uprooted three angels to come here.


And in God's name tell me,
who put me in charge of angels anyway?


(smoke vision)


Oh, right.
That was my idea wasn't it?


What used to be, is now debries.
Shreded shards of memories.

And my photo album?

What have you done to it?

I keep my heart in there!


(smoke vision)


You chill me to the bone,
and yet you blister my soal.

It's all I can do, not to love you anymore.


And how will I fix it all?


For me?


For my photo album, and my heart?


And for my angels?


I guess,


just keep watching the smoke,


(smoke vision)


for clues.


 

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