I am sick of writing
cigarettes and weed
as I am of smoking
cigarettes and weed.

Replacing depression with
a paralyzing stimulant
that I can only burn down
when I'm high – completely

What is the consistency of soap?
Like rubbing goosebump-streaks
all over my hands
again

and again,
Grit raked bloody little rows

I drain it with more soap.

My fingers still smell like tobacco no matter what I do.
Resin stains the rented sink:
THC is not soluble in water
nor is the stench of ashes.

I expect the day
I will type the poem of my elegy

And my house burns down around me.