Life’s turning around,
Little by little,
Fear fills my
Lungs with the drag
Of another cigarette,
I can’t be thrown
To the dogs again,
I don’t think I’ll survive
This time, or the next
Or the next after that.

So I sit quiet,
Letting the smoke
Stain my fingers,
Thinking maybe
This is what’s left of me,
A body that keeps moving,
Even when the soul
Is tired of staying.