His lungs are filled with nicotine
He feels air beneath his feet.
As if he is floating
Above the
           Scattered
      Books      and
                                  
                             Clothes
        
And  
                              Life
Trytocollectitall
Atoneplace
But       it         is         not       possible

He feels like there is mouthful of cry
Between his jawline
Which apply pressure under his cheeks
And he won't consider it  
                                           real

He feels ground again
It's cold and brittle
It is what he hates
As he hates the truth
So he will light the lighter
To fill his lungs again