Second hand smoking

"There is no love
only hate"
the talking head on stage repeated
for what value I don't know
Maybe he felt it was a revelation
one humanity had yet to realize

But in that moment
I knew
I never once
had an outlook so bleak as that

The glittery curtains of this hipster ballroom
wrap the crowd in spacey glow
And in the smokey room I sat
alone
peering through the nicotine haze

Giant saucers above my head
collect all the sounds in the room
like I was listening in on a hundred
phone conversations
all at once

So I sat and watched
because what else would I do in that situation

When you are alone in a room full of people who aren't
It feels more empty
than my Saturday night
Like despite all this life around me
I could not be part of it
but merely an observer

I told myself this is possibly what the future holds for me
A seat to one side
of a vanilla colored couch
inhaling smoke and conversation
from other peoples lungs

Which sounds dire
But never once would I believe there is no love in this world
How could I
When it was obvious as the cigarette cloud around me
I could breathe deep and choke on other peoples romance

Second hand love
Everybody tells me it's a killer
But what good is second hand knowledge anyhow

I'd just as soon smoke myself to cancer
than listen to those terminal cases