I wish I still smoked **** yeah It's the ritual the need to make time to die a little opening a new pack shiny cellophane the lid flipped back paper seal for freshness pulled out to reveal 20 happy moments spent inhaling, coughing, thinking the soft packets where you flicked the cigarettes out like movie stars and the Marlboro man who are all dead now roll ups, kit form bronchitis liquorice flavour papers combining childhood flavours with adult life takers the smell clinging to clothes and hair dragon breath but we all looked so ****** cool so adult so grown up so ****** clueless, ******* on our manly pacifiers I wish I still smoked **** yeah just don't have the courage some how
Cold damp skin, Midnight clouds deepen within, raindrops brew unto me as i whip out a tasteless, tarry, smoky cigar. Feeling the pain of nights rain, Train horn rings through my veins and I pierce my cold lips to the plastic casing of my fresh cigar to continue keeping me feeling alive.
Opening tunes of musical melodies, bringing me a nostalgic time lapse of pain and pleasure.
Thinking of my life as it passes me by, a bitter, strong taste of smoke hits my tongue, but i blow out the tar filled air out through my warm mouth. It continues to rain, when i always feel the pain.
Living life as a misfit, unwanted, unloved and always forgotten. As my dart vanishes into the air, i look through the dark park across the street and remember last nights nostalgic memories of us dancing together to someone else's house party while the live band plays symphonies and rings unending beats into my hair.
They set me on fire And ask me why I’m burning They try to put it off with oil And then they ask why is it not working
It’s quite disturbing, the things they think The things they say The things they do But you You are different I feed you my secrets and they stay there You listen to me like you really care And this is why it hurts the most When you shatter my little hopes Sometimes I think, if you understand Then they all will, but sometimes even you don’t So everything you do matters, it hurts When you smirk, shudder, scowl and groan
I think it’s time to leave you now I’m thinking of finding another cry pillow Maybe smoking cigarettes, A new way to **** myself I have tried everything else I don’t feel anything anymore Now I try to **** myself in my head To make me feel alive Smoking is a slow and pretentious way to die Slow and pretentious, I think it will suit me
Slowly inhaling the tobacco As I gaze at the vermillion summer sky Drinks and ice on the table in my unkempt room Trumpets of mosquitoes and flies A classy yet messy poet Ashes melting as he cries A beautiful macabre life And maybe in the downpour of worldly lies You can join me too A Cigarette kiss A double suicide
But I know you You are different You won’t sway with me in the scorching rain As we clatter the wine bottles You won’t inhale the chemtrails on the table You won’t hold me, you won’t coddle You will just run away and leave me be And say that I am underserving of you In the end all you will do is Set me on fire And ask me why I’m burning
drinking alone, smoking, playing dead, overthinking, a psyche made of bad habits and a stomach that's always sinking. this is the summer of silhouette, laying in the shade, apathetic slumber, the figure of a man in the background, counting my ribs and fearing the number. i go transparent in the sunset - the sickness is tangible, apparent, just as i knew, feared - it's buried in my chest, inherent. i can't get better when it's just paper mache and cigarettes; i pray and pray and pray but no one's heard me yet.