He's the reason I first put a marlboro to my lips
and now I've got nothing left of him other than this
inferno in my lungs.

His words were flames that ignited my curiosity
and his promises were as empty as the cartons that
litter my floor.

And now I'm sitting in my bathtub smoking again,
hoping I can make this nicotine taste like his whiskey stained lips.
Wishing I could make the memories we had disintegrate like the ash hitting this lukewarm tub water.

He was my addiction and now smoking is his surrogate.
And I want nothing more than to use his heart as my ashtray.
To ***** out what we had once and for all.