What do they call you when
You're not a lover
or a fighter?
What do they call you when
You chain smoke
On the balcony
And do nothing
But exist?

Not a lover or a fighter
No passion anymore
Just cigarettes and
Wine and books
And an empty bed.

I take all the bottles off
My nightstand.
6
One for forgotten lovers
Two for the eternal crack in the mirror
And three more because
I don't know when to stop.

Grey in a sea of vibrant blues,
Grey in a world of beautiful hues

so I sit here again and
tell these woes to
my pen because

No one cares about the one
Who chain smokes
On the balcony
And does nothing
But exist.