Not Who I Think I Am

Contemptuous contemplation, still looking for that spark of inspiration.
Stare at the stars and jump as far as my feet take me.
Yet, no matter how I try, they still look down on me.
Mocking me for my existence, 

I started smoking 2 or 3 years ago. It was a spontaneous night. An hour of persuasion, a taxi ride to Alabang, then a 4-5 hour drinking session. I had my first stick. “Harmless.”, I thought. “Just to get rid of this hammering in my head.” I justified. 
I’ve been hooked ever since.

I know I should stop. It ain’t good for my health. My second wind’s been hardly coming, lately. I’m lethargic and moody whenever I haven’t had one in a long time. I should stop.

It just feels so good. Like every drag I take gives me a bit more room, like I can jump a little higher, think a little faster. I remember the nights I spent staring at that SM Southmall sign, smoke in hand, while pondering nothing and seemingly everything in the same breath.

But I should stop. I can’t rely on something so little for inspiration. I need to find a better source for that.

Then I’d need to fill in my post game rituals. Usually, I’d have a smoke and some sort of soda. Just to get me back to normal, unsweaty levels. My friends joke around and say, “Vitamins.” like I rely on them to get my juices flowing. That’s not far from a half-truth though.

I should stop, though. I spend almost 50php on this a week, not counting the candies I pop whenever I smoke. That’d be 4 hours of DotA, a one-way trip to Manila, or a half-assed lunch right there.

I’ll just need to find me some other sort of comfort on those cold lonely cliched nights that pops by every so often.

I should stop. I really should, even if it’s just because I know how good it’ll feel once I reach for that stick again.

I am sporadic at best.
Lines that fit nowhere found in between words that feel more out of place than they should be.
I am uninspired at worst.
Grasping at air, looking for some word to define the improbably defineable, and ending up with some make believe word pulled out of my own ass.
I finish things when I feel like it.
Then again, I never do. Inspiration hits me in spurts and my brain hurts when I try to conjure up something more than old pains and heartaches.
I don’t finish things at all.
And maybe that’s the problem…