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
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Empty Thoughts
AléatoireJust an odd collection of thoughts in my brain that sometimes come spilling out of my mind