I should be saying That I'm thankful For every breath I take But truthfully I'm not.
Every time I inhale It's a long draw Of a cigarette bud That isn't mine Forcing me to wheeze And cough up the venom That scorches my lungs
I am cursed With the longing To breathe fresh air And rid myself Of what I've become so attached to Just because it's not my nicotine Doesn't mean I'm not addicted to it Addicted to dying Addicted to the thrill of wondering If this will be My last cough
Quitting isn't my choice I'm not the one Who lights up With shaking fingers Shielding a flame from the wind I'm just the one Who enjoys The ashtray full of burnt consequences
I don't have the option To become unattracted To the white clouds Floating around your lips I was already convinced That following you Was as good as resting in the sky Even if my rest Was on pillows Made of poison
I can't say I'm thankful For the intoxicatingly Toxic air That you spoon fed me
But I sure am blissful
I'm not stupid enough to think Thankfulness and blissfulness Are the same thing I am smart enough to know That honestly I'm no better than you Even if I wanted to be
You never offered me My own cigarette to smoke But standing next to you I'm as good as dead.