All of these thoughts
have tied my mind in knots;
desperate and blind,
I cling on so tight, to this
cigarette…
When sadness
dawns like a black canvas,
and darkens the day,
and shoves warmth away;
maybe there’s mercy,
reserved for these bleak moments,
when a soul, most broken,
soft spoken,
tries
to pray;
with misty breath,
in poems and plumes of cigarettes;
because they don’t know
what to say;
Sweet moon,
would you care for a cigarette?
Let’s share it with misty breath;
let’s lose philosophy,
because reason obscures
what’s meant to feel sure,
as we sacrifice magic
for a simple peace
So,
to hell with salvation;
they can keep their damnation.
I just want to gaze,
into your sweet cream face,
as we share,
a cigarette…
