Merv sat in his bed effortlessly, his lips permanently parted. The thick marshmallow wisps drifted out a consoling forgiveness.
With his back leaning against the drawn blinds, only the top most bars allowed staccato flits of light to filter through. There was a charred blunt in the ash-tray and the sunny glow of another as he drew in from its long crispy barrel.
At first the light illuminated rays of haze, like a prism that had run out of color. But as the smoke filled the room, it swirled in and out until it folded over the dim ambiance. He didn't want to see himself right now anyway.
He didn't want to see. Baggy hanging eyelids and a melancholy absence of latitude in every other part of his complexion. It was too late to cry now. Too late to feel emotion, he decided. His love fell out of parted lips, like on so many other occasions, and it left him feeling emptier, as empty as his smokey room.
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