Do you really think, that even for one second
I don't know that this smoke will turn my lungs black
and eventually everything inside me black, too?

Do you really think, that at any given point
this perpetual death wasn't a suicide?
That each drag wasn't planned to become my ending?

I know I'm going to die, it's out of my control.
But a pack a day won't keep the doctor away,
it will just leave me in a hole I've dug myself.

I don't care about cancer, or being able to breathe
because I'm eighteen years old and I've spent
so much ******* time wishing I couldn't.

I've spent days and nights thinking, wishing,
that my home would be a deathbed, built just for me.
I was wishing and hoping I would be set free.

But for now, I've got a pulse and air in my lungs,
I'll wake up tomorrow morning with a craving,
for approaching death and nicotine.