tobacco stains everything
it stains my lungs
my love
my life
my brain
it makes me feel alive
it makes me feel okay
and i've started to believe i’ve become addicted
as the shakes start to settle
and the energy begins to flood through my body
motivating me and immobilizing me
i can't stop smoking and i can't believe it's gotten this far
i believe that
this will take over my life
as much as i don't want it to
it soothes my thoughts
but not my hands
i promised myself i wouldn’t get addicted
not become a slave to the industry that ***** me in
the nicotine keeps me coming back every time
everything keeps me coming back
i literally can't handle the thought of being addicted again
addicted to the thoughts of being addicted
after i drank
after i took
after i smoked
i couldn't be without it
it makes me admits things i'm too afraid to admit to sober
it makes everything come out easier
i want someone to understand that this
makes me afraid
afraid for myself, my life
it makes me afraid that this will be something that ***** my money away
penny by penny
i thought that this would be something easy to quit after so many years of abusing it
i thought that this was something that i could handle
i thought
and i thought
and i guess that’s whats brought me here

He washed himself with
broken glass, the phone wouldn't
stop ringing and he couldn't
forget. Said they wouldn't get
out of his head. I found him
in the bathtub one night, barley
breathing. He said the glass resembled everything he had
lost and everything he had
broken. But I couldn't handle
the site of his ****** nose, so we
sat on the bathroom floor for a
while and I started fitting all
the broken pieces back
together. I stuck the shards against
his skin, put his spine back into
place. And I got a little messed
up along the way. But I didn't
quite mind. His smile was the
only thing I ever wanted to see.
It was the only thing that could
put me to sleep. Eventually his
bones came back to form and
he could stand up straight.
He healed well enough to get
up and walk away. And he
never took me with. So I'm
still sitting here on the
bathroom floor, wondering if
the broken pieces are his or
mine. *I should probably get
the **** up.

an image of you is branded into my brain and I can promise you these scars dont fade. when I close my eyes this image of you turns gold, metal, and then begins to rust.

I thought sucess was the answer
until i saw those CEOs
throw their fortune
and their families away
with bottles of jack
that seemed to keep them warmer
than whatever life they were living.