Chorus Blame game Blame game. Choose a number 1 to 10. And when the day you pick my name.  I will silently close the front gate. Screaming behind cause I'm leaving.  In shock you'll reply it's all your fault.  No suprise. She plays that old  chord again. Cup over my ears using it to shut her up.And block the noise the coming from her voice. And of all just what I planned before. I have sworn.  Chorus   I'll take all our pictures. And tear them to pieces. Skipping your rememberance.That are running, from the closet on my bed streaming through in my head.      This is me. Just trying to complete. This mess you've made.  Just trying to ignore complaints.  Your best deeds Come with the worst intentions. I had descretion when you sent home that package. With that same old gossipping.  About Blame,  same game. Here we are to play your cards. When my turn comes I'll be out the door. Then with my friends you've left your mark. I haste the day it's your turn. Then you'll learn not to start this blame game.  Come again count it out one to to ten.  I'd say your a 13 cause you bring bad luck to parties. Don't pardon my exit.If  your waiting for a return.  When you mess with my head.nough with this gossipping I'll scream somebody stop this women. From playing   Blame game Blame game.  Everyone knows your the guiltyest.  Every time I burned our bridges. You cane back to seal them up. Everynught before I woke I had to pull out the stiches. That you gave to my emotions. What's to gain from what i'm sayin  Acting like you got me  tied around your finger. I'm your little puppet on a string. But no way will I let you play that game. To the next guy that comes knocking. I'll tell him Chorus   To take all the pictures of the walls.  And tear them to pieces. Skipping your memories before the come. On him like a haunting That are running, from the closet on my bed streaming through in my head.     This is me. Just trying to complete. This mess you've made.  Just trying to ignore your complaints. When you lay down the pain. Acting like you got me  tied around your finger. I'm your little puppet on a string. But no way will I let you play that game. To the next guy that comes knocking. I'll tell him Chorus   To take all the pictures of the walls.  And tear them to pieces. Skipping your memories before they come. On him like a haunting . I know he'll experience the same thing I did. Playing Chorus Blame game, Blame game. Choose a number 1 to 10. And when the day you pick my name.  I will silently close the front gate. Screaming behind cause I'm leaving.  In shock you'll reply it's all my fault.  But I know it's not. Cause the problem is you.

My lungs are filled with more nicotine

than the average 90 year old pack a day smoker, you see

smoking runs in my family.

And if I’ve learned one thing, it’s that all it takes is a spark,

a spark that always has the best of intentions

a spark that always was meant to help

a spark that’s always to catch a glimpse of the unknown in the dark

and then there’s a flame and an ember and the soft, hollow wheeze of

smoke.

Entering my newborn lungs because of your newborn stress born out of your

newborn wedding dress.

You just wanted to make sure you looked good.

And you should.

But now my lungs are filled with the toxins of

broken hearts taped back together

tragic love stories, more than I can remember

of men, come and gone,

And more men come along,

one’s who like new kinds of smoke

the kind that involve words like

****.

stem.

****.

****.

***.

Or how about illegal?

How about enfeebling an infant to make sure you can pay rent

because you’ve spent every cent of his

child support from your

******

sticky

divorce on

***.

****.

****.

A habit that’s taken over for too long and it’s only a matter of time before I’m…

gone.

Because every time I open my lips to breath. To dispell the smoke, the poison, to exhale, to express, my lips are sown shut with your tapping cigarrete

and gossipping nicotine

and looping heart-broken scene I’ve seen more time’s than I can count

And if this is what you’re about,

Always needing a spark

A flame

A ****

A ****.

Or any other addiction that will never last quite long

Enough, I’ve had enough.

There’s a window to fresh air that I now know you’ll never help me reach

but once I get there my lungs will sing gospels of

Love that stays.

Of drug free days.

Of a mother’s loving embrace that doesn’t involve a wheezing spark.

I see a poor fellow
cleaning my office with sad downcast face
A miserable soul - with no hope in his eyes.
Beside him stood my idle students
some gossipping, some drooling
like sick hens
The cleaner doesn't exist for them
his world is far far away from
their high hopes:
good jobs, good money, family and friends.
They don't care.

What am I supposed to teach them?
Do I show them the way
of all the tyrants and mischiefs
of the world who are bent on
piecing up the ***** among themselves
letting go of their self-respect and dignity
or do I preach something different
A less trodden way of
measure, struggle and equality

Are they ready for it
Will they listen to it
Is it worth the it?

When they are doubting my path,
And start gossipping like rats,
"Are those just the proofs of his guts?"
"Or he haven't shown what he got?"

As I hone skills for future,
And seek advices from mentors,
School helps me with my ventures,
And showered redefined gestures.

Everyone should attend school.
For not just for us to be cool,
But to never make ourselves fool;
Knowledge that makes anyone  whole.

Everyday is the beginning,
It's an overflowing blessing,
As we continue with learning,
Success will surely come running.

So even if everyone doubt,
And even if you shut your mouth,
Just let your wisdom do the shout,
In the end you'll always stands out.