We are story lines clashing, each person has their own.

But I'm here to write about mine and whatever I know about yours.

My story line is not yours.

I don’t control yours and you don’t control mine.

But that is not what’s happening here.

I'm not your string puppet.

I cut the ropes and left myself limp.

You refuse to see that the ropes are no longer there.

My grin and your alligator tears.

Your disgust and my dishonesty.

Aren't we perfect for each other.

I'm tired yet addicted.

When the bitter cup of coffee parts my lips, I inhale the freshly lit cigarette, those two combination leave a smile upon my face, pleased and amused of where this story is headed to.