When you look at me what do you see?
Is it my job to make sure what you see is true?
Or maybe what you see says less about me and more about you.
Looks can't ****, looks can't tell a story, so don't let them
I told myself I would only put my lips places that made me never want to stop breathing.
And now as I lift this cigarette from between my fingers
I think of you.
for i cannot hate the hurt
it helps me feel
it helps me heal
which helps me write
and to write is to live
if optimism leads
then exhaustion follows
hyped up on euphoria
with unexpected sorrows
and with this still
return all of my tomorrows
the next day will come around with a smile or with a frown
plant seeds in lives and watch them blossom
investing hearts heal scars
***, drugs, and alcohol got the best of you
and now all that's left is the rest of you
we are all addicts
consuming our every thought and our every need
admittedly or inherently
it's an inevitable choice
which we all regret
for some it is ******
for others it is acceptance
they are fundamentally one in the same
over time they slowly devour our entire existence
these choices are ****** upon us
so what shall consume me?
neurotic behavior? nicotine? romance?
pick your poison carefully