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I Came to With a Cig Between my Fingertips

So I guess I kind of needed it.

I took another drag and thought about all the wonderful things

that were crawling into my lungs, making themselves at home.

I wondered if they liked it, you know, being in my lungs and all.

I don't think they did though,

because I started coughing.

Not the kind of coughing that makes you want a cough drop,

but the kind that makes you question when you'll taste oxygen again.

I just kept coughing.

So here I am, in all my glory,

and all I can think about is the awful color of the tile on this floor.

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Written by
lane
American
Published
Nov 20, 2012
Lines·Words
11·105
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