They say each cigarette takes eleven minutes off your life.
But Heaven know's that that's alright.
What can you do in eleven minutes anyway?
I lived through a lifetime of your abuse and you still didn't stay.
There's a lot that could be done in eleven minutes, one may say.
and I have to agree. It took less than eleven minutes for you to destroy me.
less than eleven minutes to say a prayer, to take a picture, to sit and stare.
But it takes less than eleven minutes to get high to be humiliated to frustratedly try not to cry. for your truths to be spilled, to swallow too many pills, it takes less than eleven minutes to be killed.
and maybe I'm happy to rid or eleven minutes more.
you have a door knob for a heart and your love's a trap door.
You said I "felt like home"
so I know why you ran away.
at least for me "home" isn't a place you'd want to stay.
And if i'm left with only eleven minutes more perhaps I have regrets.
But If my lungs are filled with smoke
I can't feel your essence in my breath.
I'll just keep my fingers crossed you have no presence in my death.
© copyrighted Nicole Ann Osborn