He wraps his ash covered, yellowed fingers around its neck and squeezes,
He doesn’t know what he’s doing yet,
But he can’t stop.

“I can smell the cigarette on your clothes” it gasps,
“Do you really need that to feel happy?”

“Why are your pupils so dilated, boy?”
“Do you really need that to feel happy?”

“I can smell the drink on your breath, boy”
“Do you really need that to feel happy?”

As he hold tighter around happiness’s neck,

He doesn’t know what he’s doing,
The face shifts and shakes violently,
His own face now smiles back,
“You’ve killed your happiness again”
It whispers, on its final breath,
Save me.