SOUL LEAVES BODY

Do you know what I need right now? I need a fucking cigarette.

Fuck, I need a fucking cigarette.

I just heard some great news about Nneka. She’s thriving, she’s blooming, she’s going places, and she was born here.

I was born here.

Where the fuck am I going?

Where the fuck am I going?

I can’t handle this shit on my own; I need a fucking cigarette.

These thoughts leave me as the smoke leaves my lungs.

I can’t handle this shit; I just can’t.

These might pass for suicidal thoughts but I can’t handle that either.

Suicide?

The thought of further suffering in hell stays my fucking hand.

I can’t do it.

But I’ll still die; I’ll still die if I can’t have what I want.

What I need.

My soul will just fucking leave my fucking body.

GOD. FUCK. FUCK. FUCK. FUCK. FUCK. FUCK. FUCK.

Notice the ratio? One God, several fucks.

I don’t even know what the fuck that means. All I know is that I said it.

Fuck.

I need a cigarette; or I need you.

But I don’t want to drag you into this; I don’t want to be baggage to you.

I don’t want to be a burden.

Please don’t tell me I’m not a burden for I am a burden even unto myself.

Where the fuck am I going?

Fuck. Why do I always fuck everything up?

I can’t fuck this up.

She’s one in 7 billion.

You are one in 7 billion.

I can’t push you away.

Then there’ll be nothing left in my body except my black lungs.

My soul will just leave my fucking body.

Please stay.

You said you’ll be there for me...

That’s how the Nneka song goes.

My heart is beating.

For what?

What the fuck for?

For you.

But that’s not all.

It is not enough for my heart to just beat even if it is only for you.

There has to be something more.

I have to have something to give.

I have to be somebody.

Or you’ll go away.

Away.

And my soul will just leave my fucking body.

It’s still suicide in that case, because I killed myself. I made you go away.

My heart is beating and I have to make it count.

No arrhythmia; got to keep going. Make the heartbeats count.

Fuck.

Cigarettes are the first step.

First step is the hardest; especially if you’re wearing knee-high boots made of adamantium.

I have to do it. For me and for you.

I have to be an Nneka.

I have to be able to make music; to do what I love for the people that I love.

For me and for you.

No matter the cost; it is something worth fighting for.

Or else, my soul will just fucking leave my fucking body.

I hope I wake up in the morning.

I hope my soul hasn’t left before then.

They say everything is better in the morning.

But it’ll still be dark in my morning.

It’ll still be dark.

Fuck.

I need you.