by Patrick Jayson L. Ralla (Poetry)

A cloud of smoke emanates
from the very being in which my mind
is trapped.

Each breath I draw in
is a clamor for survival,
each breath I exhale
is a surrender of my existence.

The ashes from my cigarette
is the decay of my being.
(My body perseveres.)
(My mind asks until when.)

Its dim light is my only source of hope.
For one day, I will fizzle out
either by nature or by force,
alone in a dark room
with nothing but the lingering mist
covering my nakedness
as I sit
on the edge of my bed.

The quietness accompanies
the bare existence of my physical body.

Gradually, I am consumed
by the ecstasy of momentary satisfaction
from the cigarette between my bony fingers.
Yearning for more, I reach for another one,
lighting it with a matchstick.
It enables me to be rotten.
And for the longest time,
it desires the destruction
of my very own body.