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Jul 2014
I'd rather you be my cancer,
Then this pack of 4.95
Cruising down the that road,
Maybe for the thousandth time.

Like the smoke exhaled from my lungs,
Blowing in the wind till it's out of sight,
When you're around I'm at a lack of words,
Shortness of breath from the cigarettes.

I want to love you I want to help you,
We both have our wounds,
Yours are external to show the pain,
Mine being internal to show no weakness.

Smoking this cigarette ever so slowly,
You disappear in to the distance
As does my last smoke of the night,
I will save you but I need it first.
Nathaniel Owen
Written by
Nathaniel Owen  VA
(VA)   
443
   Emma
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