People

What is this thing called people?

People are strange. They come so close, touch all your bruises with their bubblegum words and then wear their overcoat on their way out. Not one glance, not one slip, they disappear into the trampoline shaped crack they came from. Ranting about people to people seems like the funniest thing to do. They laugh, they cry but then they strangle you with their bubblegum hands. People judges you,irrespective of your being.

People are weird. The blue aftertaste of a wave crashing smells so sweet when you are with them. As soon as they leave, you only seem to taste the salt in that wave. They give you clothes, cigarettes and demons in your head. The clothes turn pale, the cigarettes are lost in a drunken haze but the demons stay and burn bright damaging your relationships and your kisses with other people. People are always running away to faraway lands where the skies are filled with flaky clouds and the guitar overdrives do not drown the sound of the rustic harmonica. They leave you with a rainy sky and a record of The Smiths.

They lose control sometimes and become my cigarette breath. Maybe that is why the last thing I hold every night is a cigarette and these cigarette butt's are piling up in the astray as it soaks the lungs non-chalantly.