Dreaming has never felt like such a horror.
I wake up in the morning,
kiss my lonely cigarette.
peach fuzz is desperation for such ripe fruit
it is only sin that will lead into temptation
holding back my grudges
puffing on the words that seem to escape
as though i cannot be free of a feeling
non-exsitent
the tones, the strings
pitiful my voice
careless her actions
is there no thought to my grievances?
my well-being cursed, relinquished sanity
nothing feels real
as the breath of a soul.