Smoke lingers like a lullaby.
Many a manly, mumbled murmur:
“What if my shoulders break beneath my burdens?”
“I don’t understand happiness, how to really be content,
how to stop grasping for storms.”
“Some tragedies alter what dwells
in the mirror.”
“I can’t seek help, it would
make me less than-”
The door creaks open,
she walks in,
and all is
cigars and whiskey
