Quietly watching the small flame
Flicking back and forth frantically
With the slightest breath

The wax is dripping
Pooling down below

Soon the light will run out
The wick will burn
And the wax will melt away

If the candle is gone, child
What now shall light your path?

The bustle of people
The joint between the teeth
The city comes alive
When the sun goes down

She blows out a circle of smoke
She's had the practice
Everyone tells her to stop
"***** them all," she says

The moon is high in the sky
But no stars can be seen
There's too much smoke
So much smoke

She knows it's bad
That's the point
With each inhalation
She's closer to detonation

People walk by without a second glance
They've got everything on their minds
She's got one thought
Let this be the night

But it's just another night
Another night
Blowing smoke
In the city that comes alive
When the sun goes down

Waking up to the smell of cooking breakfast was the best thing in the world to her.
The bed would be empty, but she'd know where he was.
She'd roll off a bed and throw on the nearest t-shirt, even if it wasn't hers, and stretch, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.
She'd take a deep breath and look out the window.
She'd see cars driving by and children up and running.
She'd leave the room to find him in the kitchen, humming some old rock song.
She'd smile and hug him from behind, but he wouldn't jump; he knew it was her.
He'd turn and plant a kiss on her forehead and maybe on her cheeks.
He'd tell her good morning and pull her in close.
She'd nuzzle into his chest and mumble a reply.
He'd laugh and smile.
She'd look up into his eyes and know she found it.

She found home.