I think today,
I'll cash out on a box of cigarettes-
To burn my lungs away-
A little thing to make me forget.

It's too bad that you love me,
For I've gone astray,
Maybe you'll see me,
On some other sad day.

lost are the nights
where i would breathe you in
feeling you slowly burn
as i held you close,
now all i can do is watch
as you fall back
into the void
i tried so helplessly
to save you from.

I'm jittery as ****,
just plain out of luck.
Wishing I could duck
out and take just one drag.

Surely, that wouldn't be so bad.
I'm going a tad mad.
My will has never been ironclad.

In my garden, there are cigarette corpses
None of which were ever yours.
Were they yours, I’d have grieved as
Their fires collapsed and their breath grew meagre,
Until the last of you upon them dwindled in winks of ash.

In my wardrobe, there is a shirt
Which I’m not sure is mine or yours.
Were it yours, you’d want it on your back
And not draping you across my mornings as I dress,
Yet I fear I’d miss the smudges you put in my dawns.

In my pocket, there is a note
Unaddressed but undoubtedly mine.
Were it yours, it wouldn’t be written
In such naked ink,
It'd be dormant in that head of yours.

In my mind, there are the ghosts
Of kisses unaware and helpless smiles.
Were they yours too, your jumper would still
Be woven with absinthe, and your arms with mine.
No more than ghosts; they breathe down my neck.

Do they breathe down yours?

Take a deep breath,
and forget about death.
Once more, I set the stick aglow.
My fingers smell of tobacco.
Oh, I wish you could know.
Tenderly I blow.
I want to let go,
let my habit lie fallow,
but I'd miss the flow.

This is precious cargo.

your eyes blank with the dimming grey
of the cigarette that you dreamt you held now.
even if it blacks and barricades
your last air - in your last lungs.
Because it’s saving you from your
void into reality.

now the smell of pain’s smoke,
gnaws into the walls of the room you lurk in
from the insides.

spreading to suffocate the ones who
bullet this hatred into your restless head,
under your river of limp hair.

and finally it blanks your glass window so all you see
is your black hole of distort.