Can my wounds be clothed
By the sands of time?
My dirt be cleansed
By its flowing stream?
My crimes forgotten
By its weathered hand?

Then tell me—
Which amount of days
Can mend my lies?
Which amount of weeks
Can dry their cries?
Which amount of years
Can let the pain die?

Please…
Tell me if time
Can truly do this.

Life’s like a cigarette—
If you never take the risk, you’ll never be lit,
But light up too fast, and you’ll burn out quick,
Leaving nothing but smoke and regret.

Life’s like a cigarette—
Tempting, reckless, a slow inhale,
But every drag steals another breath,
And no one beats the final exhale.

Life’s like a cigarette—
You think you’re in control, till the ember fades,
Every choice a spark, every habit a flame,
And some fires you can’t unmake.

Life’s like a cigarette—
You can savor it slow or waste it fast,
But remember—when the last puff’s gone,
All that’s left is the ash of your past.

Yes, I lost the old me.
Yes, I'm the only one who can get it back.
But I'm getting tired, you see...
I just wish I had someone
I could call mine.
Not to give,
But to remind,
And help me find
The old me.