caught in the burning of somethings you'd owned
in your masochistic daze you're loved by none
and you're loved by the only thing that's ever mattered
the incessant beatings you'd taken by yourself;
for yourself, you let them go on, like you couldn't stop
and now you're just lighting your whole life on fire
and lighting the way to an early grave, enslaved
by the nicotine staining your fingers, draining your lungs
of sweet, succulent oxygen, openly displaced by carbon monoxide
and yet there's only blackening and death on the inside.

this has to be cut-out or you're just going to end up on another page; immortalized for your love of something choking you to death; deadened from the disease you couldn't ****.