The smoke
From my own little make-shift fire
Smells sweet
And tempting
Dragging me back
The smoke fills my lungs
My chest tightens up
And my body begs for a smoke
Just one more
I crave the sweet nicotine
And the ability to starve myself
I crave skinniness
I crave beauty
I would die for what I could be
But I promised
I promised him
And I promised myself
Promised I would stay sober
And that I would eat
So I play with my cards
To keep my hands busy
And my brain distracted
But still
My lungs cry for just one cigarette
YOU ARE READING
Empty Thoughts
AléatoireJust an odd collection of thoughts in my brain that sometimes come spilling out of my mind
