Trapped inside
a cannon ready to fire
from within
at any moment,
is a restlessness
a stirring;
Not lit from
the outside, but ignited
with the spark of a fire
that was thought to have
gone out long ago.
the blast brings
a heaviness into
the atmosphere,
a bitterness hangs –
like burning sage on a hot day.
Breathing in the smoke
hazardous and dense –
is unavoidable
almost addicting.
it is needed.
it is always there.
it is begging to be inhaled.
a seductive masochistic aura
that calls out;
Billowing. Bowling. Bewildering.
knocking me backwards,
leaving me lost in its wake.
Taking It All In 