I breathe you in like a morning
cigarette. Trying to remember
all the things I need to forget.
Caresses on my cheek when I’m crying
because a little piece of my soul is…
dying. Funny how love burns our lungs,
like those early morning drags,
and makes us think in clichés as we burn
down the ****. Watching the little red line
getting closer to the end, while thinking
how all good things come to an,
well, you get the picture while I’m sinking and
drowning myself in those things I need to forget,
with each morning cigarette.