There's a cigarette burnt black coffee filtered voice that i use but don't own
and as many cigarettes and cups as i push past empty lines
it's that other drink and smoke that own my windpipes.
That's a lie;
I've never filtered any tangible thoughts out of those two sources
and serenity aint my friend in any kind of aggravated blissful stupor.

So it must be the early morning toilet scene that caresses my inspiration as i fill it's desperation