brandished with spit

Haven't seen the tender side of my hand in a while. Works been coarse, my mind bruised. Our last smoke was brandished with spit. Did not matter the directions we split. You ended where you will, maybe tell me. I ended shaken and stiff. Nonsense got tossed at the last curve. I hoped to find you with a thumb out stretched but the road was beautifully quiet. In the quiet and darkness I forgot I was looking for anything at all. Peace seeped into me as the wind kissed my face. The flickering nothingness became mesmerizing.