all I do is write and erase
nothing sounds as good as nothing tastes,
except these cigarettes that lay on my tongue
to calm my mind from words I can't replace.

it's like trying to explain how empty feels
as the one who's aware prescribes another pill,
the numbing sting of obliviousness
lets no rhyme exist for what's not real.

 and I yearn with forward hope so much,
that when dawn turns from day and from day into dusk,
I find myself on bended knee
begging forgiveness in Who we trust.

still yet it seems that I am bound
in a lifetime drenched, and dried, and drowned
'cause left turns and cross traffic,
have been all I've ever found.