I am
An ex girlfriend
An ex bulimic
An ex addict
An ex model daughter
An ex daddy's girl
Yet, all of these things
Have somehow marked an X
On my soul.

The smoke in the air tells a story
As she ***** on a cigarette.
She sits in a park, alone at night
Waiting for someone to tell her to go home
Before they call the police.

The smoke in the air tells a story.
She remembers the days before she needed this fix
The days when she was happy.
Times before her ex-boyfriend tanked her self-esteem
Times prior to some guy picking her up when she was
Down and out
He used her for his own selfish needs
Left her feeling *****
He covered his tracks to make sure
No one would believe her.

The smoke in the air tells a story.
As the way it crawls down her throat and chokes her
Reminds her of the era
Not long ago
When bulimia was her best friend.
Why does she still wish at times
That she could purge her life away?

The smoke in the air tells a story.
Of the times when her ex brought her Marlboros
And they polished off a pack when her parents weren't home.
They were such a cliché, with cigarettes after ***
But that's exactly how she wanted it to be.

The smoke in the air tells a story.
About the week after her grandfather suddenly passed away
She was on her ninth day without sleep
Chain smoking provided her with some relief
And so did passing out in an empty lot.

The smoke in the air tells a story
Her story
My story.
So I suppose one more pack couldn't hurt.

If you had an hour to live..
Would you spend that hour saying that an hour isn't enough.

I feel lonely
So very lonely
but everyone is lonely
So i know i'm **not alone