Smoking is terrible for you - we all know that,
But there's nothing quite as **** as a cigarette
With its wafts of smoke curving sensuously up
Like a winding staircase to heaven.

Maybe it's that, that Bacall and Bogie dance
Of noir fog above a lit cigarette,
Or it could be the intimate way
The word "young" is carved out on your slab,

Or the intimate way that the smell lingers
On the clothes of loved ones long after
You're dead and buried.
Nothing makes a guy harder than rigour mortis.

It is always nice to know that you're not alone
but








It is also awful to know that they feel what you feel.

Blood stains—it taunts as well—
Sings Our Tale—of long farewell—
Inspires art—brings Us to hell—
Blade in hand—We understand—Death's plan—

Dark scythe sweeps across head—
Takes me Under the Ground—
Words unsaid—live forever—Deafening Sound—
Sweeps across this barren town—

It's one of those times where I don't know what to do.
They say, "follow your heart," but it only leads back to you.
It's like a continuous circle that never seems to end.
But at the end of the day we both know we can't be just friends.
You're the air in my lungs when I can't seem to breathe.
You're the calm voice telling me to stay when all I want to do is leave.
You fill me with happiness I haven't felt in a while.
Just the sound of your sweet voice can instantly make me smile.
We try and try to make this work for the both of us.
But every time it ends you tell me it's because it was rushed.
Then in week, you'll come back to me with regret.
You'll tell me you messed up and I'm the best you'll ever get.
You'll hurt me forever if it heals yourself.
Because to you my love is nothing but a box on a shelf.
But then the circle will start up once again,
Because we both know we can never be just friends.