I've been awake for days,
conscious for none.

Remember that first time,
I did acid downtown,
and the butterflies left my stomach,
and I felt empty in more ways than one.

Sometimes I think I'm still high,
tripping on my own confusion.

I want it to stop,
I want to understand,
I want to have notion,
I want to have clarity.

Maybe if I just close my mind.

I am a cigarette to you.

You lit me up,
and I burned slowly,
and you enjoyed my simple highs,
and got dizzy from my insides.

You began to crave me,
addicted to the sensations I gave your mind,
reliant on the comfort I gave you.

But your fingers began to slip,
and I would burn you,
and I had no choice,
I was on fire.

Then I was nothing but a filter,
and you stomped me into the ground.

But in the end, I was killing you all along.