Chain Smoking at Midnight

The summer heat melts my bedroom.
Smoke trails dance to the roar of the fan.
My apartment remains motionless
and for the first time in forever
these public housing streets are quiet.
I type while he snores
on dirty stained sheets.
Like every night,
I should be asleep
but the nicotine intoxicates me
under the computer's glow.
Sweat rolls down my neck
as I desperatly try to remember my past,
a blur of drunken nights
and stranger's beds.
I remember I always chain smoked around this time.
But back then, it was different.
Back then the city wasn't dead at midnight
and the parties were just getting good.
"The freaks come out at midnight," we joked.
Looking back, I guess it was true.
Now, the scars have healed and
those few excess pounds have turned into
fat jeans and high cholesterol.
My purple and blue Mohawk has turned into
long blonde hair down my back.
Random unnamed men have become
a fiancé and a child.
Liquor makes me vomit now and
I've learned to eat away the drug cravings.
But some habits never die so I'm
still chain smoking at midnight.