The steam on out breath
Mixes with the smoke from our lungs.
Our cigarettes burn,
Whispering through the crispness.
Frozen air
Bites our fingers tips.
You look so pretty with your hair pulled back
We are present,
Desperate to forget.
Why are stars so intriguing?
Maybe because we can sympathize,
They burn through the blackness.
Dec 18, 2013
Dec 18, 2013 at 4:23 AM UTC
The steam on out breath
Mixes with the smoke from our lungs.
Our cigarettes burn,
Whispering through the crispness.
Frozen air
Bites our fingers tips.
You look so pretty with your hair pulled back
We are present,
Desperate to forget.
Why are stars so intriguing?
Maybe because we can sympathize,
They burn through the blackness.