Impaired Vision

A deep inhale, the smoke filling my browning lungs and my nerves plateauing into a steady numb. A slow, practiced exhale of a stream of city smog, my contribution to our already grey skies. The after taste of bitter medication, my daily fix of cigarettes to clear my mind and block out my anger. Sometimes one stick a day, sometimes twelve in an hour. It depends.

A nervous bite of the lip along with a churning of the gut. Little goosebumps along my arms and an irritating strand of hair tickling my chin like a misplaced feather. Yellowed teeth tap dancing in my mouth- freezing from the cold. Feet hanging off the edge, butt hard from the concrete, eyes gazing out into the horizon of pollution.

Waiting, waiting, waiting.

For something that may never come. It's my every-evening routine to come out here onto this bridge and watch the traffic ease over the ledges, looking for answers in the never-ending trail of lights and echoes of blowing horns.