It wraps its wicked vines
Around my heart
Robbing me blind
Of any sense
I thought i had.
Makes me forget
How much i want to
See my children grow.
Convince myself
The taste of ash on my tongue
Is what i want and need,
That a limited lung capacity
Is a thing of beauty.
Go through mental anguish
To get you out of my life
But invite you back in
At the gentlest knock.
A gun would be quicker
And probably less painful