Cigarettes stick to my fingers.

I pretend it's a casual and cool event,
But beneath the surface it's a product of fear,
Of a great nervousness that pervades my day to day existence.

They stick to my fingers, like the tab of a nightmare
And were I to pull on it, perhaps by thinking too much
Hell would open up the air in front of my face and take me into its burning maw.

But I only feel hell as a slight sour stomach.
That's how I know my love for you is real.
You are the fruit of hard work and the root of my love
And I have been avoiding you...

But not killing you. My affinity to live in your energy
Muster my worth and make you love me
Is so much greater than my affinity for cigarettes.

I teeter and totter, but foresee resolution.
Cigarettes stuck to my fingers.

--My heart!--

It beats stronger than lingers.