Inhaled that burn down my windpipe
Spread through my bronchi to every tiny alveoli
like fire spreading through a forest
reaching every leaf  

feel that singe
Concentrate on that sweet pain
that stain it leaves on my fingertips
A trace of something on me
Proving I'm not empty

Trace of the war I have inside
Shooting those bullets and from my self I run and hide
Because Smoke, Gun powder and tar taste the same
As I'm setting my inside on flames

just to make the burn in my heart seem less dominating
I burn my lungs
and by the end of this night
I finished a pack of cigarettes  
Leaving my body in the destruction of the aftermath  
You can hear my insides cry like a soft melody of jazz

Who really wins a war
after so much loss
but I still fight  
till I can fight no more