I am weak
I am the fringes
Of split peaks
Where ***** water runs.

Whenever I get the urge
To inhale my death
The poison sinks into
My shaking chest.
My living time shrinks
With each passing trunk
Of those wrapped bits
Of tar and junk.
On the road to hell
I walk the double yellow
Rattling breath yells
In a silence that bellows.
But every time I say
I'll have my last one today
Tomorrow comes fast
And wins a game I won't play.

The fog curls around
My sickened face
And I don't make a sound
As I drop to the pavement.