it cares not if the world burns
but only to find a spot on your lap
to curl up and sleep

Chalance is the quiver in your vivacious voice as you tell them you're fine.
The trepid tear you battle as you proclaim that you don't care anymore.
The leering lump in your throat as you scream indifference from the rooftops.
The murky melancholy you mask with the widest of smiles,
The sinful scars that lurk beneath your flawless ensemble.
The six strategic seconds you pause before you tell the universe you're nonchalant
The word chalant is only as non-existent as your nonchalance.

It's funny how inhaling poison
can seem adequate enough
to fill up your time
and...
natural.

I do remember when your tongue
tasted like toothpaste and nicotine
and I ****** on it
as if trying to steal your pain away
and swallow it.
But all my stomach had to digest
was silent words
that I am still hungry for
and a desire
for you to stop hurting yourself
and me.

But all you do
is smoke one cigarette after the other
with such nonchalance.


F.Z.N