Late night cigarettes and coke

I sat up late, head throbbing with that pestersome migraine I often get and an insatiable craving for cigarettes with Coca Cola.
As is always the case, my mind was in pain--it was searching for the right path using a flashlight with dying batteries, and the dimly lit grid line only seemed daunting in the multiple avenues of prospects. It strained my eyes realizing that my squinting was possibly contributing to the rhythmic stampede on my forehead. Self-absorbed, expressionless, I stared at the glowing tip of my cigarette and reveled in the simplistic outlook of possibilities, because it was indeed so plain it remained motionless in wait for your eyes to pan across its meaning. For them to catch a glimpse of something dazzling amongst the reeds, for your eyes to focus, to narrow in and enter the land of criticism that is governed by the judgements you make while relishing in the exposed nothingness of what is this life. If God hears all he hears me as Ishmael and God willing I may embark on the journeys that will replace all that I know to be common. Take a hit off this pipe and I'm time traveling.