From the very first drag,
of newly lit sorrow,
it seemed to heal,
all my wounds.

It burned like heart break,
and died like the moon,
when the sun wakes up,
and lights my whole room.

I miss the night—
A free of charge silent treatment,
I really didn’t mind.
Because I was alone very frequent.

Nineteen-some later,
my lungs wore a frown,
I did this to cope,
when i felt nothing but down.

Say what you want,
but no one tries to help,
I’m held to the fire,
chop liver until death.

Please let this smoke,
be your very last.