Wasted Breaths

My contentment isn't content.
I have no feeling of that shit.
Eyes droopy from insomnia,
muscles weighed down by greasy indulges.
Evenings lathered with disappointment.
Do you know what it's like
to have your whole existence
be a burden to everyone around you?
If a bullet struck through me
there'd be no blood, I'm empty.
My relaxation consists of four seconds.
The inhale and exhale of smoke.
Cigarette nuzzled between my fingers.
My contentment isn't content.