You came outside to find me crying over a cigarette. Another wave of nausea washed away my embarrassment. You were holding one of my cigarettes, asking if it was okay if you could have it. It was hard to see you at first, through the blur of tears and a cascade of dizziness, but I nodded my acquiesce somewhere in your general direction. You stood next to me, and looked into my face.

I imagine putting a gun to your temple and watching your face blow away. Your skull bursts into a beautiful flower and sends its petals through the air.

You mumble something about waiting until I finish smoking, and stumble back inside.

And it's so fucking hilarious. I look at your lifeless body strewn across the asphalt and at the fleshy pieces of gore that cover my hands and uniform. It's so fucking hilarious, I can't help but look up to the sky and laugh.