my vices are devices
through which ideas flow from my mind
as readily as ink flows to my skin

they allow me to express
the beauty of sitting still for an hour
with nothing on your mind

while these cigarettes
burn through a year to my life
and the courage that flows through my veins  
is supplied by my local thought dealer

a key to my mind
its seems that i an unable to write
what i think what i feel
without this passage of time
in which i may not have
full control of my mind

but what is a few years of my life
to sacrifice
if i can show how its meant to be alive

and i can live and love and laugh
as much as the next person does

but i must cut a bit deeper than the knife
in the gloved hand of fate
that denies me this wish

this wish to be free of what you call bliss

i write so i am
i think just because
but these words do not flow
without some from some cause