dark-wing2

-It's the Rush You Get- Jack lay back, watching the ash grey cloud of his breath fly and curl; wispy, like a spirit of some kind, a ghostly cry of pain from his tar stitched lungs. Jackson coughed next to him, his hazel eyes bloodshot and his smile was beautiful. If one could call the grimace on his lips beautiful. Jack took another slow drag on his last cigarette. He exhaled again, fighting the urge to laugh at the rude shape it twisted into briefly before it was swept into nothingness by the not so stale air. It was much cleaner up on the roof.  Jackson hiccoughed and clawed angry bruises into his spotted, bloodied forearms. Jack barely sp