Broken back bent we toil on our hearts,
pen silently swooping on the purest of sheets,
cigarette smoke blooms out in the dark,
as burnt fingertips drum up retreat,
the words flow in strings,
and get lost in the wind,
nicotine, dopamine drifting in streams,
i’m on an endless highway through the peaks of my brain,
the waves are breaking all over my dreams,
as my synapses rush; flushed down the drain,
a million overflowing ashtrays,
a crackling bowl of brainwaves,
staccato clicks of pen tops,
holding tight as the flow stops