The room: never aired out.
Smoke hung high, creating its own atmosphere.
Pun intended.
Box of cigars sitting on the coffee table, always within reach.
Glass ashtray to smother your butts, when a forearm wasn't intended.
Burning flesh, each circle telling its own story of a mistake.
That's why I prefer long sleeves.
They hide my stories
about Grandfather's house.
Jan 27, 2013
Jan 27, 2013 at 3:40 PM UTC
The room: never aired out.
Smoke hung high, creating its own atmosphere.
Pun intended.
Box of cigars sitting on the coffee table, always within reach.
Glass ashtray to smother your butts, when a forearm wasn't intended.
Burning flesh, each circle telling its own story of a mistake.
That's why I prefer long sleeves.
They hide my stories
about Grandfather's house.
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