I ****** in a healthy dose of smoke into my lungs; fire twisted and lovely. Like powder in my eyes. The ash Like sand in an hour glass, filling up my lungs like hunger. Taunting flickering flames with mouths and teeth turn me ragged with age and use. Oh the clock is ticking and the seconds are gone in the flames. The smoke is lost in my hands as the time slips by and the skulls on my door step start talking. Their bones rattle my name and the grave I can see. They are waiting for me. In the smoke and ash and dust of time. The skulls are talking on my door step.