" Contemplation"

I'm longing for a cigarette
Which no one here will give;
So, now, my lonely silhouette
Has no more will to live.

When does my life become my own?
Is my life set in stone?
Why is it that I'm fully grown,
yet, always so alone?

I dance around an open Pub,
The liquor takes its toll,
I'm calling for a warming tub;
a razor for my soul.

My feet begin an argument
Which only one will win.
My nostrils fill with heavy scent
Of tonic and some gin.

Visions of honored conquerors
Condemn my swelling brain.
In icy, dank, and murky moors
my soul has drown again . . .

by,
Jamie Hartman
1996