Catch 22

I lay in bed feeling grey, I look out the window and see grey. I feel cold on the interior and the exterior. I'm trying to picture happiness but the photos are blurry. I grab my worn red lighter, red like my heart which beats without meaning. I grab a cigarette, a physical representation of death, the impending doom of lung cancer destined in the stars of my future. I light the ciggie and it's fucking class. The nicotine fills my body with dopamine and lightens my spirit. It's ironic how something that relieves stress mentally increases stress physically. I guess that's the way of the world ey, there's always a fucking catch.