Bad made Worse

Coasting through a night so weary, petty thoughts awoken clearly. It's not my night, nor my day: active past the trumpet's bay. A cigarette that won't stay lit, rain is sparse; the tip got hit. My radio is clearly shot, all I get is fizzle pop, and as the static screams at me, I ache inside for a drive. a goal, a route, somewhere new to scout. a fresh venture without censor, complete with the perfect spot. a golden space with a view, sunrise cloudy, and trees with dew, hidden vistas with fog broke through. All I wish is that it came true, instead I tried to light my smoke, and ended up with my car afloat. it's cold and dark but holy shit, I got to puff my cancer stick. truth be told the night was cold, but as I smoked I spied a bag and filled it with my clothes and phone. fortuitous that I was alone, with one bag I floated home. once the craggle met my feet; arms aching and cut up feet, I walked to sand and laid in wait. the sun came up and I feel great.