Evening Smog

A midnight ride to the old conservatory
Cracked cement, putrid stench
Standing in its antediluvian glory
Get the fix, try to quench it

Fluorescent stars stand stark
Against the inky sky of the night
An illuminating spark
Triggers my nicotine delight

Nights like this one allure
Because the complacency, the calm,
And the smoke are the cure
To my trepidatious qualms

It's called a fix, but it does not
It relieves and spreads placidity
The problems in a manageable knot
Manifest acquiescence of the city

The elements fall, the tendrils rise
A drench might cleanse the soul
But the past is still in my eyes
And a hope for change fills the hole
♠ ♠ ♠
I wrote this about a time in my life, though it seems like it was yesterday.
I mainly wrote this because I had an idea for my identity piece in my art class. When I finish the piece, I'll post a link to the picture.