Packs made from black
Bought from the gas station
You betrayed me at
One up to my mouth
Arsenic down the hatch
One became three
Three became ten
Ten became a pack
The pack became my crutch
In my lungs sat your sweet lies
Covered in Marlboro smoke
In the consul sat a lighter
Catching fire to the
Thing slowly killing me
Because a collapsing lung
And a menthol taste
With a casket place
Made more sense
Then a lifeless heart
Sitting in your hands
Because of your bad taste
-a.n.s // down my lungs
YOU ARE READING
Smoke Laced Ink
PoetryA serious of poems I've written over the years. Please enjoy and send feedback, I would really appreciate it.
