Another rainy night a lost emotion and a dependable vice did the train simply pass in the night leaving only a smokestacks embrace to the moonlit sky .

A single scar in a ocean of bad choices the naked view and the want is not need can we build from the nothing we are I lost interest and you simply lost the desire .

Passion is a infection that often is cleansed with time .
Old fools often resemble a mirrors reflection don't ask for what I cannot explain just be the person you no longer are and I will fade for now as well.

In steady rhythm together and so easily apart.
Salt water I recall the fantastic buzz by the ocean before the storm .
And now we are left only with this .

Its a perverse ending a dying flame .
I lost a time and you just simply a thought.
The page turned and we found a different story altogether.

Sometimes I think about viewing those pages deep within you.
Sometimes when it's dark and I'm alone.
Then I recall how I came to be here to begin with.

And I simply pour another drink and let those thoughts die with the passing night.

We are all shadows of are own choosing.

Spent in New Orleans the bourbon kissed the streets only to find me alone again.

The night was wild and all those I need not mention to those whom truly understand.

We had miles ahead No rest in sight There comes a point being on empty seems like are full on a spring afternoon.

And us alone with are vices kept silent as the effects took there toll and are past memories flooded are thoughts.

Cigarettes and coffee one night stands and other vices stained are existence as the road somehow kept it all clean.

In moments of decay and Saturday night excursions broke are wallets and fueled are thirst.

There were miles ahead so I simply laid my head against the window And blocked it all out for the time being.

Another stop of and a month till I saw that place they tell me is home .
Empty as we run till hell kicks us back.

See you soon postcards and nonexistent phone calls
I'm never here sweetheart and always around .

Don't be sad I can't recognize myself
anymore either.

My days are grey, my nights are treacherous
I've spent so long sleeping but paranoid
Too many vices, I chose temperance

Vapid flings give way to the perilous
My slow conversations with life devoid
My days are grey, my nights are treacherous

One edge is straight, a knife, my preference
Trivial suffering makes me avoid
Too many vices, I chose temperance

I've cloaked myself, remain ambiguous
So, in midday, I have tempted the void
My days are grey, my nights are treacherous

No addiction equates to elegance
What is the point in a teen self destroyed
Too many vices, I chose temperance

With depression, I remain decorous
My mind flirts with bloodstains and carcinoids
My days are grey, my nights are treacherous
Too many vices, I chose temperance

My skin appears to becoming paper thin
Yet I am no coward, feel no fear
I am a warrior with a razor blade and an army of bad memories
A captain who's forgot how to steer and a crew full of drunks
The light has not been taken from my eyes, I am simply too strange to do anything rational
I wouldn't mind if for the rest of my life I only slept with the sheep
I wouldn't mind if for the rest of my life I was free
They say it's easiest to conquer in numbers but I'd rather just fight my battles alone

Tuesday and Wednesday is a blur;
I have not slept in between
I do not have the luxury of
Having a rendezvous with my bed

Tuesday and Wednesday is a blur;
And you are its perfect metaphor:
Viciously fast and vague
But I know a vice when I see one

Tuesday and Wednesday is a blur;
I'm weeding vices out one by one
Like coffee and/or cigarettes,
You taste so good

Miles upon miles
slither along old,
forgotten bends and
dance with evening
tides.

You exist across
the vast exploits
of their secret
vices.

I exist among
the roots of
their *****, deplorable
deeds.

One day, we
will encounter each
other's beings and
visions.

And what a day that will be.
-s.r.b.

Within me the voices
Of virtues and vices
Battle valiantly
Daily for victory.

he tasted faintly of cigarettes and black coffee-
a single kiss satisfied all my vices

It takes a special breed of fool
to touch a hot pan twice,
well I've grabbed it
about four times now,
it's just another sorely vice.

I'm playing a game with penance
and pain;  another reckless thing I do.
So add it to my
smoking,
drinking,
and coming back to you.

it's become a habit of mine
to count the number of sticks i consume
but for each day that passes, each time
i lose track of the moments i can't refuse
i do realize what i'm getting myself into
i do understand the risks i choose
ironically whenever i'm on a break
a cigarette is what helps me breathe
and the longer i am without it, i'll crave
and its absence will make my lungs bleed

n.j.