I look into your eyes but can't see you in them. The glaze so heavy, the fog so thick. You look tired, red veins spiderweb out from the black of your empty, deer eyes, and I wish I could give you some rest. Why so tired?

I reach out my hand to you, but my hand can't penetrate the thick cloud of smoke. I can't grab hold of your arm, can't pull you out.

I watch from the outside as you choke and writhe and smile and laugh like you aren't dying. Mine eyes have seen the story of a young man lost his way. Lost in smoke.

I scramble around looking to put out the fire. I would do anything to put it out, to curb the rush of smoke. I would lay my body down to smother it but the fire burns from inside you and the smoke won't let me get close.

I shiver because outside the pillar of smoke it's cold as ice. I'm frozen, my core, by proximity to the fire. I would let myself freeze over too, if my coldness would save you, but it's just killing me too.

So you choke, and I freeze, and not a damn thing I do will make a damn bit of difference.

My dying won't save you but maybe, just maybe, His dying will save us both.
Save us from the smoke.
So I walk away for now.


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